


Fireworks, Baby

by Squid_Ink



Series: Domestic Avengers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce is the put upon Rogers' family doctor, F/M, Fourth of July, Steve has doubts, Story is completed long hand, THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!!!, This story clearly got away from me, Unplanned Pregnancy, birthday fic, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: Natasha has something to tell Steve. Something that will change their lives. The problem is she's just not sure if she's ready for that shadow of the Red Room to be removed from her life or how Steve will react.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mickeysam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickeysam/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Supernova, Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582021) by [Squid_Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink). 



When Natasha saw those two red lines on the pregnancy test she knew that the only person she could trust with this information was Bruce. While the Hulk scared her, Bruce always seemed nice — though he could be intimidating at times — and he was one of the only doctors she trusted to keep a secret. She had told him what she wanted when she came to Avengers Tower, confusion etched onto his face, but he performed the ultrasound anyway. They stared at the grainy black and white screen together, listening to the rapid _whoosh-whoosh_ of a fetal heartbeat. "I'll be damned," Bruce whispered, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"It's impossible. It has to be a fake," she said, staring at the screen. She couldn't get pregnant. The Red Room made sure of it. She didn't know what they did or how they did it, but she was sterile. She _knew_ she was sterile. Bruce _knew_. It was in her Shield medical file. There was no way she could conceive, no way for her to be pregnant.

"Tasha, I'm hearing the heartbeat same as you, nobody decided to just _trick_ you into think you're pregnant," he said, slipping his glasses back on. She couldn't take her eyes off the screen. "I can run a blood test, but you _are_ pregnant."

"It's impossible," she said, touching the screen, not daring to believe that she — after all this time, and dreaming of the chance — was going to be a mother. The baby — _her baby_ — was nothing but a lumpy mass of cells vaguely shaped like a human, but it was real, and it was hers. Bruce turned the machine off and hit a button on the side that made a beep.

"Yeah, well… finding Steve in the ice was once thought to be impossible too," Bruce said, a quirky smile on his lips as he got a needle and vile ready. "Roll up your sleeve," he asked. She did, wincing a little as he took her blood. "So, you and Steve coming to Tony's 4th of July bash?"

"And miss whatever hilarity Tony has in store for Steve" — she grinned, watching her blood ooze through the plastic tubing — "not likely. Steve'll complain, but he'll appreciate it." She pressed her finger against the cotton ball once Bruce removed the needle. "How long will it take?"

"Not long, a few minutes," he said, busying himself with her blood and starting the machine to run the test. She took a paper towel and wiped the jelly off her belly; gently, so she wouldn't hurt her baby. The silence was charged, to say the least, and she couldn't stop thinking about the tiny life inside her. Her son or daughter was there, and she was going to be a mother. Bruce had said she was about two months pregnant. Tucking her lip between her teeth, she did the math. She must've conceived sometime in May, meaning the baby was due around January. A little part of her hoped it was a New Year's baby, though at the same time she didn't think a child would appreciate that. Either way, she was excited and made a note to go to the bookstore and pick up a parenting book, a baby book, and a baby name book on her way home.

"So… am I pregnant?" she asked, once the silence got too much for her. Bruce didn't answer, instead he was staring at whatever was on the screen. "Bruce?" The man turned and looked at her. It was a strange look, one torn between bafflement and scientific excitement. "Is something wrong? Is the baby okay?" she put her hands over her still flat stomach. "Nothing's wrong with the baby, right?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he said. "You're definitely pregnant… and… you have the super soldier serum" — Bruce made a face — "to a degree."

"That's impossible," she said, realizing that a lot of impossible things were happening today. "The Red Room gave me their own serum. Steve was the only one to receive the super soldier serum."

"And Johann Schmidt."

"The Red Skull?" she frowned. "Steve said that the serum he used was incomplete." Bruce nodded. "I don't see what the Red Skull or Erskine's incomplete serum has to do with me or my baby?"

"It has everything to do with you and your baby. The Red Room serum — as far as I can tell — is a modified version of the serum Schmidt used back in the late 30s. The Russians were able to modify it where it gave the physical enhancements without the emotional ones. You received a blood transfusion, yes?" Bruce asked, pulling up a chair.

"Yes" — she furrowed her brow — "Steve and I had a mission in Southeast Asia, things went south, I got hurt and lost a lot of blood. Enough to need a transfusion. The medical base didn't have any AB+ blood on standby but Steve's O-, so he was able to donate some blood" — she smiled — "saved my life."

"Well, it seems that the serum in Steve's blood… completed — is the only word I can think of to describe the phenomena — the Red Room serum. It's heavily diluted, but for all intense and purpose… Natasha, you are the only other living person to have the perfected super soldier serum invented by Dr. Erskine."

"What?" she blinked. "That's impossible. Steve's the only one it has ever been successful one. I can't have the serum."

"It's not a _pure_ version, but like I said: the Red Room serum is a modified version of the serum Schmidt used, which was an incomplete version of the serum used on Steve. When you had the blood transfusion, his perfected serum _fixed_ yours. And because the serum keeps the recipient in top physical condition it —"

"It reversed my sterilization." She covered her mouth. "Steve…" she whispered. Bruce frowned. "Oh god, he doesn't know."

"Doesn't know what?" he asked.

"Steve and I" — she flushed, embarrassed — "well… because I'm sterile or rather _was_ sterile — we didn't use protection often. He and I were both clean and since I couldn't get pregnant — we didn't mind cleaning up post coitus messes from time to time." She rubbed her face. "He doesn't know and… it's always been an unspoken rule between us about children. He knew I couldn't get pregnant and he mentioned a few times he was worried about fathering the next Red Skull… so I just assumed he didn't want children or was happy to live without them and…." She swallowed. "He doesn't know."

"Well, I guess you better figure out a way to tell him he's going to be a father," Bruce said. "I want to see you in a few weeks for a prenatal check-up standard procedure. Nothing to worry about" — Bruce smiled — "and bring Steve."

Bring Steve. She swallowed, though Bruce would have never suspected she was nervous — not with the wide happy mother-to-be smile plastered on her face. "Of course, I'm sure he'll enjoy that," she said and tugged her shirt down before leave, the medical wing of the tower. She ducked and dodged her way to the elevator, sending a quick text to Laura, telling her she wanted to meet her at their favorite café. It was a good thing the Fourth of July was in a few days, Laura and the kids were staying with Clint at the tower. She had a friend on hand and did she ever need Laura's down-to-earth advice right now.

* * *

"You have to tell him," Laura said as they sat outside on the uncomfortable wire chairs of their favorite café, enjoying the sticky New York summer sun. Natasha wrinkled her nose. Everything seemed to be more pungent now that she was pregnant. The sweetly sticky scent of exhaust and concrete and asphalt mingled with the food and people and the trees, all caused her stomach to roll in protest and she discreetly spat a few times to clear her mouth of the taste of bile. "I mean he is the baby daddy, right?"

"Please don't call Steve that," she said, taking a sip of her mint lemonade. "But yes, he is the father." She poked her blueberry tart with her fork, debating if she wanted to chance throwing up or not. Thankfully, she hadn't had any morning sickness yet, but she had a feeling things were about to change. "I just… don't know how to tell him." She looked at Laura, who was munching away on a slice of chocolate cheesecake. "We never really discussed kids. I mean, we aren't even dating."

"What?" Laura stopped mid-bite. She swallowed, down a gulp of her Frappuccino and stared at Natasha. "What do you mean you two aren't dating?"

"We aren't dating. We're just friends with benefits," she said, deciding her blueberry tart was worth the risk of it coming back up later. She cut off a slice with her fork and popped the buttery flaky blueberry goodness into her mouth. Even her sense of taste was enhanced. "How do I tell Steve I'm pregnant when we aren't even a couple."

"Does he—" Laura stopped and took a few more bites. "Clint tells me a different story," she said. Natasha arched a brow. "According to Clint, Steve is head over heels for you. Think he's referred to you has his girlfriend once or twice. That man's smitten according to Clint, but Steve's just been keeping mum because you don't seem to be—"

"Returning the sentiment," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. Of _course_ , Steve would be in love with her. She should have seen it coming the first time they slept together. The concept of sex — of physical intimacy — was different for him. It was all love and sex go hand in hand nonsense. It was not just a physical act but a deeply emotional one too. So _of course_ he loved her. "Damn it."

"What?"

"I just… I should have realized it," she said, poking at her tart. She was starting to regret eating it, but she didn't think it had anything to do with pregnancy related nausea. "I hate breaking hearts," she mumbled and took a sip of her lemonade, trying to ignore Laura's stare. "What?"

"You're telling me you are just going to throw away the greatest thing that has ever happened in your life?" Laura asked.

"Clint already pulled me out and gave me a second chance, I didn't throw it away," she said. To hell with it; she went in for another few bites of her tart. The café here had an excellent bakery and she wasn't going to let an upset stomach keep her from her favorite dessert. "So I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me Romanoff," Laura said, jabbing her fork in the air between them. "You do. You damn well know what I'm talking about and I'm going to tell you right now — because I'm your friend and I love you — don't go ruining this. Steve loves you and you love him."

"Love is for children," she said, spearing another piece of tart. The blueberry syrup used was homemade and she could tell the difference between artificial and homemade. It was one of the reasons she loved this café. "We're just friends Laura."

"And his baby in your belly is a figment of your imagination." Laura nodded, going back to her cheesecake. "Glad we got that cleared up."

Natasha frowned. "What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? We never even discussed this in any depth. Because there was no point, Laura! I couldn't… this… it was impossible for me! So why bother talking about something that would never happened." She looked down at her half-eaten tart, the syrup oozing over her plate. "It was just an impossible dream I kept alive after Clint pulled me out. A what if, a maybe when times got better. If I ever found someone that… that could deal with my baggage."

"And?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said, stabbing her tart. This was all wrong. This baby shouldn't exist. This baby was — a mistake, a regret, a perfect little miracle she didn't expect? — an inconvenience. "Maybe I should put it up for adoption."

"And so, what? Hide out for nine months? Let your team worry about you? Let the man that _loves you_ worry about you."

"Steve doesn't love me," she said, hating the bitter note in her voice. Her stomach was starting to protest the tart and the lemonade. "How can he?"

"You know you're pretty much all he talks about according to Clint. There isn't a story Steve can tell that doesn't involve you somehow. Even if it's just in passing, you always — somehow — wind up in his conversations."

She stared at Laura. That couldn't be true. Steve couldn't... "Liar," she said, smiling, "but thanks."

"I'm not a liar, and neither is Clint" — she smiled — "unless he has to be to get the job done."

Natasha laughed, and decided that she could finish her tart. "I just… how did you tell Clint about Cooper?" she asked. Laura smiled.

"It was easy really. He called to tell me he was in a bind, wouldn't be home for a few days, threat of death looming. Wanted to let me know he loved me. I told him he better make damn sure he got his ass back home because I wasn't raising this baby without him. He said _Laura_ before the line went dead." She grinned. "Sure enough, a few weeks later he showed up, arm in a sling, banged up but alive and asked me if I was really pregnant. The rest, as they say, is history."

"Did you two ever discuss kids?" she asked, finishing off the last of her tart. Laura shrugged.

"Here and there, we brought it up. Clint toyed with the idea of retiring. But he kept saying he owed Coulson and that old broad." She smiled. "So he kept at it."

"If Steve heard you refer to Peggy like that…"

"I think he'd laugh," Laura said, "you really don't see it do you?" she asked as she polished off her cheesecake.

"See what?"

"That you really are the apple of his eye. I mean, even I see it. The way he looks at you. Always having to touch you, always smiling around you. I'm sure if you ask someone as ego-obsessed as Tony, he'd say the same thing."

"Tony has no ego, because he's perfect." She took a sip of her lemonade, hiding her bemused smile as Laura stared dumbfounded. Cars puttered by, people shouting from their windows at one another and honking their horns. It was the type of organized chaos she thrived in. Everything made sense in New York, despite its chaotic appearance to outsiders. Even the slight breeze — which did nothing to relieve the oppressive heat — felt good.

"I cannot believe you said that with a straight face," Laura said. Natasha finally cracked, laughing as he friend playfully kicked her beneath the table. "Tony Stark has an ego the size of the sun! And you damn well know it."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," she said, pulling out her phone when it buzzed against her hip. She tapped it and read the text. "Well, Laura, I have to go," she said, pulling out her purse and handing her friend ten dollars. "Thanks for the treat." She stood up, pushing her chair in.

"Where you going now?"

"Brooklyn," she said, trying to hide the smile, "gotta go see my baby daddy."

Laura laughed. "I thought you weren't gonna call him that?"

"Too late!" Natasha called over her shoulder as she headed towards the subway. "You said it, so now it's stuck!"

* * *

They weren't dating. At least that's what she kept telling herself as she came for the third time that night, Steve following her over the edge a few moments later. They weren't dating. His bedroom was filled with muted orange light from the window. They both had enhanced vision, so seeing in the dark had never been a problem and to be honest, she always found making love in the dark to be a bit thrilling. She frowned. Did she just refer to sex as _making love_? "What's wrong doll?" Steve asked, his voice soft and husky as he kissed her shoulder. "Wasn't good enough for ya?"

He rolled off her, taking a several deep breaths before getting up to head to the bathroom and clean up. She laid there in bed — wrinkling her nose at the mingled scents of sex and sweat — and thought about how she was going to tell him… everything. She heard the toilet flush and a moment later Steve came out, silhouetted against the fluorescent light of the bathroom. A washcloth in hand. She smiled at him as he crawled back into bed, cleaning her up. Sighing, she closed her eyes, enjoying his gentle touch. It was one of the highlights of sex with Steve. He was always so considerate of her.

She gasped when she felt his lips on her womanhood. "Steve?" his name out came out as a breathy gasp, which turned into a groan as she felt his tongue and the vibration of his hum sent shivers up her spine. It was erotic in a way — him using his mouth to clean up his mess — she mewled, relaxing into the sensation and threading her fingers into his hair. He pulled her closer, cradling her ass with his hands as he continued to lick and suckle. It was almost painful by this point, her nerves overstimulated, her body pleasantly tired, but he coaxed her gently to her fourth orgasm and sent her over the edge with a tender suckling kiss on her nub.

A soft breathy cry escaped her, the sensation breaking over her like a wave upon the shore. She still saw stars behind her eyes and her body was so pliant and dreamily oozy that she didn't think she would be able to move for the rest of the night. Which was just fine by her. Staying the night at Steve's was something she enjoyed. He kissed his way up her body and until he met her lips. She could taste him and herself on his lips. "Thank you," she said, as he rolled onto his side and tucked against his broad chest. She pillowed her head on his left bicep, his hand threading through her hair. His right hand splayed across her stomach, his thumb idly stroking where their baby was nestled safe in her womb.

"Any time doll," he whispered, kissing her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, before he let out a soft sigh into the crook of her neck.

She smiled. "Takes me back to when you were a blushing virgin" — she chuckled — "all red face and wide eyed."

"Not blushing much now, huh?" he drummed his fingers along her belly. "I'd say I make a pretty good lover."

She hummed in agreement. "A damn good lover," she whispered, kissing beneath his chin. If there was a note of pride in her voice she had every reason to be smug: she had taught him everything she knew about sex, about what turned her turn, what turned him on, how to make that knowledge of each other's bodies and sync them into the most extraordinary pleasure imaginable. They even discovered some of his kinks: he enjoyed being tied up and letting her have her way with him, and he simple had to go down on her at least once during their love making. It amazed her that Captain America enjoyed eating her out so much. There it was again — she frowned — she called sex between them _love making_.

Steve mumbled something and pressed his nose against her neck, nuzzling her. "Dia, is breá liom tú."

She froze. Steve rarely spoke Irish. He once told her he knew bits and pieces of the language. Phrases really, that his mother would often repeat. He wasn't fluent by any stretch of the imagination — though she was pretty sure that given the fact he had a photographic memory, he could easily learn it if he wanted to. She knew he spoke other languages. They flirted — yes, that's what she'll call it because there was no sense in lying anymore about it right? — in French, traded jabs in Latin. Even had a few good laughs in German, and swapped secrets in Russian. But she didn't know Irish, and he hardly spoke the language, unless it was in muttered exasperation about some new aspect of modernity or Tony's antics. "Steve?" she asked.

"Mm?" he was almost asleep.

"What… what did you say?" she asked. "In English, I man," she added, just to make sure he understood what she was asking. He sighed, stretching like a cat before pulling her closer and kissing her temple.

"God, I love you," he said, nuzzling her cheek. And just like that, the dreamy floaty feeling she was feeling came crashing down. Everything became stark and clear: she was pregnant, Steve was in love with her, and she was firmly placing him in the friend with benefits zone because she couldn't figure out how to deal with her emotions; because the Red Room never taught her how to deal with her emotions. The Red Room taught her to suppress any feeling, to become a cold emotionless killer. Clint had told her once that it damaged people in more ways to live without emotions than freely embracing them.

"I have to go," she said, pushing his arm off her stomach and crawling out of bed. That woke him up. She scrambled for her thong and jeans, pulling them both on and saying to hell with it when it came to her socks. Her feet can survive being in shoes without socks for a few hours. The subway was still running and even if it wasn't she had enough money to pay for a cab back to Little Ukraine. "Just remembered I forgot to feed Liho."

"What?" Steve's voice was muddled with sleep and confusion. "What do you mean you forgot to feed Liho? I thought she was free choice?"

"I meant wet food," she said, putting on her bra. She didn't button the top button of her jeans. They were too tight anyway and now she understood why. Unconsciously, she put her hand on the gentle swell of her belly. It made everything more real. She was pregnant. With Steve's baby. Laura was right. She tugged her shirt down and tied her hair into a ponytail.

"Can't you give her that in the morning?" Steve asked. "It's late, the subways aren't running and it's like a hundred dollars to get to Little Ukraine from here" — she should see his adorable little pout in her minds eye — "plus the bed's too big and too cold without you," he whined. She heard him flop onto the mattress with a huff. It would amaze people that Captain America would be a big baby went he wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Steve but I have to go," she said, and kept telling herself it was better this way. She'll put the baby up for adoption, fake her death, change her name, and start a whole new life somewhere in South America or maybe Africa. It would hurt for a while, but she'll get over it. She lost loves before. Steve lost everyone he ever knew when he got frozen. And look how well he bounced back!

"I mean, if you insist," he said, "but before you go… I want to ask you something?" She turned watching him get out of bed, slipping his boxers on and coming over to her. "My birthday is in a few days and I was… I was just — y'know — wondering… I don't want to go to Tony's party."

"Why not? Everyone's going to be there. Tony's going to have a really amazing fireworks display," she said, "plus he always does some weird mash-up for Independence Day and your birthday."

"Yeah, I know," he said, running his hand through his tousled hair. "That's the thing, I… I don't want to have to deal with that this year" — he glanced away from her, his lower lip caught between his teeth — "I want… I want to spend my birthday here… with you. Just you."

Her eyes widened. "With me?"

"Yeah. We can have a nice dinner, and I can make the birthday cake my momma always made for me and we can have ice cream and cake and watch the fireworks from the roof of the apartment." His smile was melancholic. "Bucky and I used to do it when I was a kid."

"Steve… I'm sorry," she said, taking her hands in his. "But…" she swallowed, hating herself with every beat of her heart. Ever since Shield fell, he had been on an obsessive hunt for his friend. His poor friend from childhood that was thought dead but only to be revealed as alive and used as Hydra's weapon for the last seventy years. The friend he nearly died for trying to save. "But I can't keep doing this anymore."

"Doing what?" he asked.

" _This_. Whatever this is between us, I can't. I'm sorry but I…" she stopped, the images coming so clearly to her mind: a quiet little house on some nondescript little neighborhood, his shield with her Widow Bites draped over it, her make-up case besides his razor, their baby's room all painted a lovely shade of sunny yellow and him covered in splotches of paint as he painted happy zoo animals, them cuddling at night as he kissed her belly and sang lullabies from his childhood, his large hands cradling their child for the first time. It was everything she had hoped to one day have, in a fairytale ending she knew she'd never get. "But I can't, Steve."

"Why?"

It was such a simple innocent question. She swallowed and wanted nothing more than to just cry and have him hold her and tell him everything: about the baby, about what his serum did to her, about how she felt about him. "Because I'm Black Widow," she said. She killed children. She killed so many people. Her ledger was dripping and there was no way she'll ever wipe it clean. "And you're Captain America." Soldiers don't fall in love with spies, Steve.

"Nat, I… I don't understand," he said. She bit her lip, hating how lost and confused he sounded. "I love you."

And I love you too, but this is for your own good. "I'm sorry, Steve." She gave him a sad smile. She ducked her head, unable to stand his beseeching gaze. "I have to go home, please."

"So where do we stand?" he asked, his tone neutral. "Just so I'm clear. Where do we stand, Nat?"

She swallowed, and it took her years of training to keep her voice neutral and her face impassive. "We're just friends, Steve." The look he gave her killed her inside.

"Friends that sleep with each other?" he arched a brow.

She gave a curt nod. "Exactly. Friends with benefits." The silence hung between them, thick as butter, broken only by a siren outside somewhere and a cat yowling in the alley. There was a muscle in his jaw that ticked, and he got this harden look on his face. His Captain America expression has Tony dubbed it.

"Glad to know," he said, "I'm really glad we figured that out." He turned away from her, heading back to the bed. Her throat tightened. This was all wrong.

"Steve, I—"

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, pulling back the blankets to get into bed. "Don't you have a cat to go feed?"

She hung her head, turning to go. "Yeah," she said, "I do. Goodnight."

"See you at Tony's party," he said as she closed the door behind her. She stood there, her back against the door as she let the waves of emotions crash over her. She could go back in, explain everything to him, tell him about the baby and maybe salvage the best thing that ever happened to her. But she didn't. Because, she kept telling herself, it was for his own good. So, she left his apartment, and didn't bother hiding her own tears as she made her way home.

* * *

Liho was loafing in front of her door, the tip of her tail idly flicking back and forth as if she was waiting with limited patience for her to return. "Liho, what are you doing here?" she asked as her cat greeted her with a meow and rubbed against her leg. The door to her apartment was ajar. Senses on alert, she slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out the small handgun she always carried.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty." Natasha frowned, she knew that voice. "Liho! C'mere kitty kitty kitty!" Liho meowed, licking her paw completely disinterested in whatever Clint was offering. Natasha slipped her gun back into her bag and waited until Clint was in view.

"Hi," she said, spooking him enough he dropped the plastic food bowl onto the floor. Liho trilled and went to chow down.

"Nat! Uh… this is an unexpected surprise. I thought you were staying the night with Steve?" Clint asked, turning on the light and rubbing the back of his neck. "That's what Laura said" — he gave her a big dopey smile — "congrats by the way. You and Steve will be great parents."

"She told you?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you mind if I kill your wife?" Clint laughed. "I'm serious, I didn't want anyone to know!"

"Hey, your secret's safe with me," he said. "I bet Steve was excited" — she scowled — "or not… Nat… you are going to tell him right?"

"I… I don't know, maybe, I think — God this is so complicated." She closed the door and rubbed her face. She wanted peanut butter. "I don't think he'll care one way or the other, we're kinda… I left on a bad note."

"Steve's the forgiving type, he'll understand."

"It's not that simple Clint," she said, opening her cupboard and finding the jar of peanut butter. "Fuck." She put it back. "Empty." She hadn't gone to the store lately to buy more. In fact she had been living at Steve's ninety percent of the time. Most of her clothes and make and toilet tree items were at Steve's. She was going to discuss moving Liho to his place when she found out she was pregnant. She was pretty sure Steve had a jar of peanut butter just for her. "Do you think you can run to the corner store and get me some peanut butter, Clint?"

"Uh… no, what happened between you and Steve?" he asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Liho jumped into his lap.

"I told him we were friends with benefits and well… he took it like a champ."

"Ooooh, I sense much sarcasm." Clint snorted. "How did you expect he'd take it Natasha? Thank you for just being a friend I regularly fuck, I never planned on catching feelings." She scowled at him. "He loves you, you know."

"He told me." She sat down opposite him. "And I'm two months pregnant with our bastard."

"I prefer love child," he said, "makes the baby sound less wretched." She scowled at him again. "You know, Laura scowled at me a lot when she was pregnant."

"Your quick quips and wacky wit are not appreciated at the moment," she said. "Anyway, it's probably over between us."

"Get up," Clint said, grabbing her by the bicep. Liho gave him a glare at being so rudely disposed of; she flicked her tail and went to her cat tree to sulk. Natasha eyed him. "C'mon Nat. Get up."

She did, folding her arms over her breasts. Clint grabbed her back and steered her to the door. "Clint what's the meaning of this?" she asked as he gave her a little shove out of her apartment. Clint locked it and lead her to the elevator. "Clint!"

"We're gonna go pay your baby daddy a midnight visit and you're gonna tell him _everything_."

"Clint, this is ridiculous!"

"No," Clint said, smashing the elevator button. "What's ridiculous is you walking out on the one man that accepts you for you, red in your ledger and all the other emotionally stunted baggage you have." He pushed her into the elevator. "I've seen you Nat. You're radiant around him, it's like you… you finally saw the sun. Like everything your endured was worth it."

She looked at her feet and realized that in a few months she wouldn't be able to see her toes. "Even if that was true, it's ruined now. I ruined it. I broke his heart."

"And yours," Clint added. "Nat, the only way you will truly put the Red Room behind you is if you learn to stop letting it control you. You aren't their puppet any more. You don't have to keep your heart at bay anymore. Give it to someone you trust" — he smiled — "and the way I see things, that person's Steve."

She snorted as the elevator descended to the ground floor. "Love is for children." She leaned against the silvery metal wall of the elevator. Clint snorted. "What? Why are you trying to so hard? Why can't you just let me ruin my own life?"

"Because," he said as the elevator opened and he dragged her out in the empty lobby. "I care about you, Nat. Sometimes you gotta give someone a little tough love and that's what I'm doing."

"Clint—"

"Nope get into the car," he said, opening the passenger door. "We're gonna see your baby daddy." There was hardly anyone out of the road. Natasha stared at him, this man that was more a brother to her than a friend. Clint had a determined look in his eyes, washed in the pale orange light of the streetlamps. Looking up into the sky, she could only make out the brightest of stars, rest were lights from buildings and airplanes. There was something vibrant about a city at night. "C'mon, Nat."

"Fine," she said, getting into the car and buckling in. Clint hopped in too and drove off, taking the quickest route back to Brooklyn. "I can't believe I paid through the nose to get back here only to have you take me back to Brooklyn."

"Should've stayed in Brooklyn."

"I don't understand why you are so… why can't you just leave me alone to ruin my love life?" the street lamps flashed as they drove along, illuminating the car in brief stretches of light. Clint shrugged.

"I could've killed you that day, but I didn't" — he glanced at her — "I saw something in you; a will to live. And I see something in you now. A kind of… raison d'être if you will. I won't let you give that up Nat. This is your chance to truly be _free_ of the Red Room." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Are you going to tell me — to my face — that you are willing to give that up?"

She bit her lip and ducked her head. Clint had a _point_. Damn him. He was always good at seeing through things. It was small wonder his code name was Hawkeye. And to be finally — truly — free of the Red Room and the shadow that the organization still cast over her life… the idea was thrilling in a way. "What if… I'm scared Clint," she whispered. "What if he doesn't want me back. What if I ruined my one chance?"

"Steve's the forgiving type," Clint said, "so long as you don't do something boneheaded like this again, he'll forgive you. He'll give you another chance."

"How? How can you be so sure?"

"Eh" — he shrugged, turning into the lane that'll take them to Brooklyn — "call it a hunch" — he grinned — "and you know me. My hunches are pretty good."

She nodded, leaning back and resting her head on her seatbelt. Her hand drifted down to her belly where her baby was. A feeling of courage welled up inside her; she could do this, she'll tell Steve how much she loved him and that he was going to be a father and they will be happy. Maybe not the cliché happily ever after in fairytales but they will be happy, in their own way. She closed her eyes, knowing they still had a bit of a drive before reaching Steve's apartment. Clint turned on the radio to some late-night talk show. One about conspiracies and how the government is secretly hiding knowledge on aliens and that the Battle of New York _proved_ the government _knew_ about aliens. She smiled, drifting off into a light doze as Clint snapped at the radio.

* * *

Clint rapped on the door to Steve's apartment, while she stood by his side. She was nervous, but nobody would have guessed by the way she held herself. There was grumbling and the padding of feet. The chain sliding away, and the door opened to reveal Steve, still in his burgundy boxers looking grumpy. Her heart sank. His eyes were blood shot and his mouth was twisted into a frown. Sleep had escaped him. "What are you two doing here?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of tone. "I thought you had a cat to feed, Romanoff?"

That stung; she swallowed. Clint grinned like a loon and gave her a firm shove. She stumbled, forcing Steve to open the door wider and catch her. "Just dropping off your baby mama, Cap!" Clint yanked the door close. "Have a nice night, you two!" He shut it with a firm click.

Steve steadied her, his large strong hands grabbing her elbows and her smaller ones splaying across his pecs. She could feel Steve's heartbeat beneath her fingers, strong and sure and steady. "Clint you asshole," she growled. She was going to kill him. Him _and_ Laura. She should have never told either of them that she was pregnant. Now all of New York will know in five minutes, she was sure of it.

Steve, for his part, pushed her back a little and tugged her shirt straight. "I uh… why don't you sit down," he said, sounding awkward. "I'll get you some coffee."

"No," she said, Bruce had told her she couldn't have coffee anymore, "no coffee. Hot chocolate and peanut butter."

Steve arched a brow, but nodded and went into his room to pull on a pair of pajama bottoms. He came out a moment later and got her the requested peanut butter and started the water for hot chocolate. She sat there on his couch — a couch she helped pick out — eating peanut butter and watching him make her some hot chocolate. This was awkward. Glancing around the room, she could see her touches: knickknacks he wouldn't usually by, her favorite throw draped over the love seat, a few books in Russian and a couple of ballet magazines. Little speckles of her here and there amongst his things. The apartment felt homely and not manufactured like the one he had in DC or in Manhattan when he first got out of the ice. There was even a spare room that he used as an art studio — maybe she could convince him to remodel it into a nursery.

"Here," he said, handing her the mug of hot chocolate. He even put marshmallows in it. She smiled. "Mind telling me what's going on?" he asked, sitting next to her. She set the jar of peanut butter down and sipped at her chocolate. "Nat?"

"Oh, so it's Nat again, huh?" she asked, wondering why she was being catty. His brow furrowed and she blew across her hot drink. "I'm sorry, that was rude." He snorted. "Thank you for the food."

"Any time," he said. They fell into an awkward silence and she couldn't help but watch him, wondering if he was thinking about how they left things a few hours ago. How a few hours ago he was tucking her against his side like a child cuddles a teddy bear and how natural it felt that she should be in that position. "Why are you here?" He wrinkled his nose. "And what's a baby mama?"

She choked on her hot chocolate. "Well, I uh… I'll explain that to you later," she said. She couldn't tell him about the baby. Not now, not when he was still vexed with her. She smiled when he rubbed her back. "Did you mean it?" she asked, leaning into his touch. "That you loved me?" The silence stretched on for eternity, broken only by the tick-tock of the clock he had in the kitchen. She tried to not read too much into it, but she couldn't help but panic. Maybe Clint was wrong. Maybe Steve wasn't the forgiving type. Maybe she hurt him too much and now she ruined her only chance and it was all her fault because she was a coward. A sardonic smile played on her lips. The Black Widow, a coward. "I'm sorry," she said, setting her hot chocolate down. "I'll call Clint and have him take me home. This was a mistake." She stood up.

"Don't go," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Please, Nat. Stay. I… I don't want to be alone." She looked at him, saw the plea in his blue eyes and sat back down. She cupped his face, stubble along his jaw. To her surprise, he leaned into her touch and sighed. "I don't sleep well without you. The nightmares… when I'm alone I just… Bucky, Shield, Hydra, the helicarrier, the ice… all of it. It's just too much to face alone."

"Oh, Steve." She closed her eyes. Her own nightmares had lessened since she been stay with him. It was as if his presence alone kept them away, assuring her that no boogeyman from her past would grab her in the dark. She kissed him. "I'm so, so sorry," she whispered. He gave he a rueful smile.

"Might wanna tell me what's going on? Stop lying to me for once," he said. She sighed and nodded. "Cause I'm confused. I don't know where we stand. You tell me one thing and then you do another. I want the truth Natasha. If you don't love me, fine. Tell me. I'll stop holding my heart out for you to take it. But if you do… act like it. Don't treat me like I'm just your" — he flushed — "bed buddy. I just want to know where we stand."

She nodded, picking up her cup and tracing the rim of it. "The truth is, Steve… I…" she swallowed. "I'm scared," she said, the tears coming unbidden. "I'm scared that if I let myself love you, something will happen. You'll die and I'll be left all alone and it'll be my fault."

"Nat," he said, pulling her into his big strong arms. "I'm not going to die. Your love won't kill me, I promise."

"It killed Alexi… I loved him and he died," she whispered, nuzzling his shoulder. She sensed the question before he asked it. "Alexi was my husband. Shortly after I graduated from the Red Room, I was married off to a test pilot. His name was Alexi and I… well I was still a naïve girl and I ended up falling in love with him" — she gave a rueful smile at the memory — "well… what I thought was love, I don't know. Emotions and feelings were still new to me. Anyway, the KGB took him away to test a new plane or rocket. It crashed, killing him. And I learned that… that I was truly a black widow. I somehow, just by being with them, kill the men I love."

"Nat," he whispered, nuzzling her hair, "I'm not going to die. I promise. I crashed a plane into the ice, it _should_ have killed me, but I was frozen for seventy years. I love you, I'm going to be right here with you, no matter what."

"Really?" she asked, not daring to believe it. That this man would face down potential death for her, because he loved her. "You—"

"Yeah," he said, giving her a soft kiss.

"I love you," she whispered as he scooped her up. He set her mug down on the table and carried her to bed. It felt so freeing to finally say that to him and his face lit up like the sunrise. "I love you so much, Steve."

He chuckled as he stripped her and tucked her into bed before following suit. She snuggled right up into his chest, sighing when he wrapped his arms around her. She was _home_. It felt like home. She smiled. "I love you too," he said, "though, you didn't explain to me what a baby mama is."

She sighed, smiling into his chest. "I'll tell you in the morning," she said. He huffed but nodded and they both went to sleep.

* * *

She rose before him, which was rare, but she dressed quickly and left a note explaining she went to get breakfast and left his apartment, snagging his spare key as she did so. She made her way along the streets of Brooklyn, looking at the Fourth of July sales. She still needed a birthday present for Steve and still needed to tell him about their baby. She smiled, staring at the tiny baby items in a baby boutique. On a whim, she went in and looked around. The store was organized from newborn to one year, divided into boy, girl and neutral. For some reason, she had a feeling her baby was going to be a boy, so she wandered down the pastel blue aisles, looking for something, anything really. "First one?" a woman asked. She seemed to be in her late middle ages, probably already mothered her own children.

Natasha blushed. "Yeah. Trying to figure out how to tell him. His birthday is tomorrow so… I also need to get him a present."

"Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?" the woman asked. She looked at the little baby booties.

"I think it's a boy, but it's still too early to tell," she said, picking up the booties and looking at them. They were so small and so adorable. She could see them dwarfed in Steve's large hands. "Do you think this'll be a good birthday present?" she asked.

"Depends on the man. Some men don't take kindly to being told their going to be fathers on their birthday, some do. It's all about your husband's temperament."

"Oh, he's not my" — she swallowed a blush. Steve being her husband had a nice ring to it. Even if they were only officially dating now. — "He's a sweet man."

"Then I think it'll be a good surprise," the woman said, patting her arm. "If you need anything let me know." She left Natasha alone to stare at the tiny little booties in her hand. Smiling, she wandered the store and got a few more things: a rattle, a little onesie designed to look like that terrible uniform Coulson made him, and a scrapbook from birth to age five. She gladly paid for it all and thanked the woman for putting it in a white box. She'll go and get it wrapped and then give it to Steve for his birthday tomorrow and let the chips fall from there. The sky was a crisp blue and she felt… light. Light like a feather, like light was bursting through her skin and she could float on air if she thought about it hard enough. It was an ephemeral feeling but one that warmed her throughout the day.

* * *

When she got back to Steve's apartment she could smell the warm sweetness of pancakes. She tucked the wrapped package in the closet and walked up behind him on cat-silent feet. "Good morning," she whispered, grinning when she felt his body jerk.

"Don't do that," he chided, "gotta hot pan in my hands."

Chuckling, she pressed her nose into his spine, breathing deeply of the scent of cedar and cypress. "Sorry," she said, kissing between his shoulder blades. "Did you enjoy your run?"

"Would've been better if I found you in bed still when I got home," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Where did you go?"

She clicked her tongue. "I went shopping for your birthday," she said. "But you have to wait until tomorrow before you get it." He gave a breathy laugh as she squeezed his waist. "So, no trying to ask me what I got you, cause I'm not telling."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He twisted and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. "You know I could get used to this," he said.

"What?"

"Us. Quiet mornings like this. A nice apartment with you, me, your cat." He smiled. "Was thinking about getting a dog. So there's that idea." He gave her a squeeze.

She almost told him then. The words almost came tumbling out of her mouth, but she swallowed, smiling at him and wondering if he knew she was pregnant. That was impossible, she hadn't said anything and he hadn't talked to Bruce or Laura or Clint. "Yeah," she said, after a while, "it is nice."

"You still haven't told me what a baby mama is," he said, taking the spatula and flipping the pancakes. They were a nice golden brown on one side.

"It's nothing Steve," she said, "you know how Clint is, he can be an ass." She pulled away from him and poured herself a cup of milk, looking longingly at his coffee pot. She sipped the milk, smiling at little. "Just drop it." She sat down at the small dining table.

Steve was silent for a few moments before shrugging. "Alright." He grabbed a plate and put three pancakes on it before setting it on the table in front of her. "Eat up," he said, kissing he temple. She smiled as she put butter and syrup onto the pancakes.

Yes, she thought as she ate the fluffy pancakes Steve was so good at making, I could definitely get used to this. Her hand fell to her belly and she smiled. Their baby was going to have the best daddy in the world.

* * *

Her breath caught in her throat at the first burst of colorful light that blossomed over New York City. The view from Steve's Brooklyn apartment wasn't as good as the view from the helipad at Avengers Tower, but it was a vast improvement over the company. Steve had barbequed a rack of rips and made a potato salad. She had made a quinoa salad, which Steve was dubious of at first, before he tasted it and declared it delicious. They drunk lemonade and snuggled against each other as the sun sat over the city. She sang him happy birthday when she brought out the ice cream cake, four sparklers atop the cake instead of candles. Steve laughed as he clapped his hands. They each took sparklers and waved them around until they fizzled out.

Steve brought out a thick blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders just as the fireworks began. "Sorry, I didn't have time to make my momma's cake," he said. She nudged him.

"The ice cream cake wasn't bad, I'm surprise there was even an ice cream place open on the 4th. Most places are closed."

"Yeah, well… Captain America can open doors for you if you know how to use it right," he said, a cheeky grin on his face. "If we were at the tower, Tony would probably be singing some weird mashup of Happy Birthday and the Star-Spangled Banner."

"Or the Man with a Plan," she said. He flushed, hiding his face in his hands as she laughed. "I have to admit it's one of my favorite show tunes."

"I try to forget that moment in my life, honestly," he said, as he stole a glance at her. "So what did you get me for my birthday?" he asked.

"Oh, is that all you care about? I thought me spending time with you was enough of a birthday present?"

"I mean, it is. I wouldn't mind if you just got me that but—"

"You're in luck, Rogers," she said, pulling out the wrapped box. "I did get you something for your birthday." She handed it to him. "Go ahead. Open it."

Smiling, he carefully undid the corners and slid the white box out of the wrapping paper. There was a stork carrying a baby emblazon on the top with the company's name on it. She felt giddy as he frowned, opening and looking and the tiny baby items. He picked up the Captain America onesie and frowned, putting it back and holding the little blue booties. "Uh, Nat?"

"Mmm?"

"I think there's some mistake. I don't… I don't think I can fit into any of these things," he said, setting the booties down and lifting up the rattle and giving it a shake. "I mean, the rattle is cute, but I'm a tad old for this stuff and way too big."

"Good thing none of its for you, then, huh?" she said leaning against him. He frowned.

"Then what did you get me for my birthday?" he asked. "And why did you give me a box of baby… things…" he stopped. She smiled into his bicep as realization dawned on him. Fireworks popped overhead, showering them in an array of colorful light. Another set of fireworks whistled into the air to explode in patriotic colors. The silence between them was starting to unnerve her and she looked at him, trying to puzzle out the blank expression on his face.

"Steve?" she asked. "Steve is this… okay? I can — hmph!" his lips crashed into hers and she could taste the lemonade and cake and barbeque sauce on his lips and feel his large hand over her belly.

"You're pregnant? You're pregnant!" he said, nuzzling her nose. "Jesus… Nat, how? I thought you said you couldn't and… yet you're pregnant!"

"Yeah," she said, smiling and blinking away the tears. "Turns out when you gave me you blood, the serum combined with mine — since the Red Room serum is a knock off of the serum Schmidt used — and it perfected it, at least that's how Bruce explained it. So, it healed me. Healed the damage that caused me to be sterile."

"When are you due?" he asked.

"January," she said. "A little New Year's baby. Also Bruce wants you to come to my next check-up."

"I'll be there," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too." She smiled and kissed him. "Happy birthday, Steve."


	2. Part II

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Natasha was _pregnant_.

In light of a medical miracle — all he did was donate some of his blood for her to have a transfusion last year — his girlfriend of two days (though they have been sleeping together for over a year now) was pregnant. The truth of the matter was that he knew Natasha was pregnant for a while. The serum had enhanced his senses to such a degree that he could detect the subtle shift in scents. Natasha simply started to smell _different_ and he figured she was pregnant. It was different from how she smelled when she was menstruating (not that he said anything about how she smelled, he just understood the scents and got her, her favorite chocolate and made sure the cabinet under his sink was stocked with her favorite brand of tampons) but not normal either. The female reproductive system, babies, and everything that went into babies was — to him — still firmly in the realm of _women's business_. So, he did what any sensible man from the 1940s would do — kept his mouth shut and waited until she told him.

And she did. Last night. On his birthday. By gifting him baby items.

While in the rush of the moment — and the following hours — he had been beyond thrilled (he always wanted a family, just never figured he'd find the right girl or if he could even have children. To this day, nobody knew for certain how Erskine's super soldier serum affected his cells or DNA). But now — in the light of the new day — the cold coiling sense of panic was wriggling up his spine as he stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the ridges and watching the dust motes dance in the thin rays of golden morning light.

Natasha was pregnant.

He was going to be a father.

And he felt like throwing up. Natasha shifted beside him, snuggling closer to him. She had slept peacefully, while he slept in fits and starts. At one point during the night he even rested his ear against her belly. Beneath her own steady heartbeat, he could hear the rapid fluttering of their child's heartbeat. In that quiet moment, he had felt a sense of surreal joy. There was life there. New life. Life that he and Natasha created together because they loved each other. For one brief moment, all the fear and doubt had vanished and he just basked in the unrequited love he had for their child. It was enough to lull him back to sleep, feeling strong and protective of his new little family. Now, in the stark light of day, all his fears and doubts came rushing back.

They'll have to get married. They'll have to discuss living together, finding a new apartment. Do Avengers even get maternity and paternity leave? Will Natasha have to stop doing field work? What if the news got out she was pregnant and the remains of Hydra or — heaven forbid — _Bucky_ came after her and their baby, would he be able to protect them? Would Natasha _want_ him to protect her like that? What if the child turned into the next Red Skull or what if the Red Room is still active and they find out Natasha is pregnant and kidnap her to get to their baby? Was he ready to be a father? He still hadn't figured out the 21st Century yet and now he was expected to guide a new tiny human through a highly complex and morally grey world.

Bile rose into his throat and he swallowed it down as he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. Space. He needed space and a cold shower. Getting out of bed, he padded to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sweat pants along the way. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Natasha make a sleepy little sound and watched her with a tender smile as she snuggled into his warm spot. He tried picturing her heavily pregnant, her breasts swollen with milk and her belly round with their child — and couldn't. The image alluded him. Giving himself a little shake, he decided that just because he couldn't see Natasha heavily pregnant that it didn't make him a bad person. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he turned the shower on, stripped and hopped into the cold stream.

God, what would his mother say? Steve frowned. He knew exactly what his mother would say. _Stevie, I raised ye better than this. Havin' a child outta wedlock is a sin. Havin' sex outta wedlock is a sin. Now, ye ha'e ta take responsibility an' marry 'er an' be a proper father an' husband ta th' poor lass._ "Shit," he muttered, letting the cold water cascade over him. Just thinking about his mother's reaction made him feel guilty. Sarah Rogers was probably rolling over in her grave. Actually, now that he thought about it, his mother was probably livid at him. She had made him promise to never join the Army, and what does he go do? Join the Army and crash a plane into an ice shelf. Exactly, what she never wanted him to do. "Some son I turned out to be." He tilted his head back, sighing as the cold water splattered over his face. The water was slowly starting to get warm, and that prompted him to at least start washing.

The glide of the soap over his body, his nails scrubbing at his scalp, the suds running down his body as he rinsed, the actions mechanical and in an old way soothing. In the shower he didn't have to think about how he became a terrible son, how he failed to save his best friend _twice_ , or the fact that the woman he loves not only never saw him as anything more than a bed buddy but is now carrying his child. The shower offered him a type of sanctuary from his problems and the weight of the world returned to his shoulders when he opened the door, shutting off the water and letting the thick steam billow into the bathroom.

The steam fogged the mirror and it's thick wet warmth reminded him of his childhood. As a boy, his mother would make him sit beneath a towel with a bowl of boiling water to help his asthma. He can't remember if it helped or not, but still he felt a certain level of comfort surrounded by thick coiling clouds of steam. It warmed his insides with each deep breath he took, rubbing the shaving cream over his face. The glide of the razor along his chin and cheeks was another familiar thing that put his mind at ease allowing him not to think — What if the baby was a boy? He'll have to learn to shave one day and he'll come to his father for that right? — Steve frowned. His own father died before he was born. It was Bucky's father that taught him how to shave, how t be a man — though with sad pitying looks as he never grew passed his five foot-seven frame or gained any weight beyond a scrawny one hundred and ten pounds — the fact he even had a father figure in his life was a small blessing. How could he even begin to be one to his son or daughter.

And heaven forbid, the baby turned out to be a girl. He didn't know the first thing about girls. Sure, he interacted with Bucky's sisters, but he was small and sickly (asthma was a disability back during his childhood) and he wasn't allowed to roughhouse with Bucky (though he did that anyway) or his sisters (not that the Barnes girls really horsed around with him and Bucky). Growing up, boys and girls were kept separate for a large part of their childhood. Now it was the opposite. How was he going to raise a daughter when what he knew about girls was so… _dated_.

A loud yelp jerked him out of his musings, the razor nicking his skin. "Ow." He dabbed at the small cut, knowing that it'll be gone within minutes. A knock shook the bathroom door.

"Rogers, did you fall in the toilet? Didn't break a hip getting out of the shower now did you?" It was Tony's voice. Frowning Steve finished shaving and put his sweatpants on before opening the door. Tony stared though he didn't say anything.

"What brings you here?" he asked, stooping to pick up his boxers. He pushed passed Tony, tossing his dirty underwear into the hamper. He pulled on an old SSR shirt.

"I'm wondering why Tasha's here. I thought you were banging Carter," Tony said, following him as he tired up his bedroom. Sighing, he picked up Natasha's clothes and neatly folded them before placing them on her pillow.

"I had coffee with Sharon a few times. It didn't work out." He shrugged. They had both agreed they worked better as friends, plus Sharon wasn't blind to the way he kept looking at Natasha. Apparently, Natasha was the only one blind to the way he looked at her.

"You aren't going to hover in here are you, Stark?" Natasha asked as she walked in to grab the clothes he just folded. "I'm about to shower." She paused briefly to give him a quick kiss.

It felt good — really good — having Tony flabbergasted. "Take your time, doll. I'll keep Tony distracted," he said, gaze falling to her heart-shaped ass. He licked his lips.

"I hope I have nothing to worry about," she quipped over her shoulder, "you two tend to stare longingly at each other."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Nah," he said, "only have eyes for you." He turned to Tony. "Coffee?"

Tony nodded, his cheeks pale and eyes wide and quickly retreated to the apartment's small kitchen. He followed, closing the door behind him, and watching as Tony sat down heavily at the table. Silence flooded the emptiness between them.

It was an oppressive wet blanket, an elephant in the room nobody wanted to address; broken only by the sound of the faucet running and the coffee grinder and the tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Neither knew what to say nor how to start the conversation. "You like your coffee black right?"

"Like my soul," Tony said, gaze never leaving the table as he furiously worked out some problem with his index finger. Steve had seen him do this once or twice before. A nervous habit, Tony would work on whatever mathematical puzzle that had been bothering him while ignoring the uncomfortable silence.

"Didn't know your soul was black." He poured the coffee, drinking in the fresh roasted earthy scent. "How's Pepper?" he asked, pouring a cup for himself. He came over, handing one cup to Tony before sitting down. Tony took a long sip.  
"Okay. She's in Malibu at the moment. Visiting family. We're uh… rethinking our relationship. How it'll work now that the Avengers are a thing," Tony said.

"Makes sense." He sipped at his coffee. "We could be called to assemble at any moment." And how is that going to affect Nat in her condition?

"Yep." Tony took another sip. "I mean… I can't just _stop_ being Iron Man any more than you can stop being Captain America."

"May have to consider that," he said, tracing the rim of his mug. There was that silence again. The metaphorical elephant clearing its throat, desperately wanting to be acknowledge, but he refused to acknowledge it. His statement hung between them, the weight ramification of no longer having a Captain America plunking down between them. Tony shifted in his chair; it creaked.

"Coffee's good," Tony said, tapping a nail against the mug's side. "Where did you get it?"

"The grocery store." He smirked. "Bought the cheapest one." He took another sip. The coffee the army gave him was nothing but black water sludge and he remember crunching coffee grounds because he had no other choice. "I think if you and Pepper really love each other you'll be able to figure out how to keep her and still be Iron Man."

Tony leaned back, taking a long sip from his mug. "Well," he said, "aren't you a glass half full kinda guy."

"Chipper optimism."

The silence returned, settling between them like an elephant lumbering back into the room. Both men finished their coffee without saying anything further. Steve refilled Tony's cup and made some toast before sitting back down. "So," Tony drawled, declining the offered slice with a wave of his hand. "What's the deal with you and Romanoff?"

Steve stared, the marmalade on his toast suddenly tasting sour on his tongue. Swallowing, he reached for his cup of coffee and took a big gulp. "Pardon?" he winced as the hot coffee burned its way down his throat.

"She clearly spent the night. You two failed to show up at my party — which I held in your honor. So that was rather rude of you, not showing up."

He grimaced. "Sorry." He took another bite of toast. As far as Tony's question was concerned — he didn't know. It was only two days ago that Natasha had told him she only saw their relationship as platonic (with sexual benefits), leave him in the middle of the night (after they had sex, no less), only to return with Clint in toe and confess her love for him. On top of that, she told him she was pregnant yesterday. Needless to say, he had yet to even wrap his head around the entire situation. Let alone figure out where he and Natasha stood. Just because she said something didn't always make it true. She was a matter of circumstance, she wasn't all things to all people all the time. He loved her, but that aspect of her made it hard to figure her out, to know what her next move was and how she'd react to something like commitment in a relationship. "Uh… she spent the night."

"No shit! Really?" Tony leaned forward. "That's obvious, Rogers. I want to know _why_ you didn't tell me you were screwing her. Did you think about Clint? How he'd react to you doing his girlfriend?"

"Nat isn't Clint's girlfriend."

"How do you know? They seem pretty chummy."

"Just do." He shrugged. Tony snorted. "I'm allowed to know things you aren't privy to Tony."

"Why didn't you tell me then? I'm your best friend."

"That's a stretch."

"I'm your only friend."

"You know I worked for Shield for two years and I'm shy but not a hermit," he said, "I made a few friends."

"Names, details." Tony held out his hand. "C'mom, gimme your phone. I want to know who these so-called friends of yours are."

"Bugger off."

"Made them up." Tony sat back, looking smug. "Knew it." Steve rolled his eyes. "So, you and Tasha. Spill."

Steve stared at the crumbs on his plate, unsure how to tell Tony what happened in the last few days — or rather the last few years. "Uh… well," he began glancing up when Natasha came out of his bedroom wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep booty shorts; her hair was wavy and damp. "Hi Nat," he said as she came over and kissed his cheek with a smile. She took a deep whiff of Steve's coffee.

"I'm going to miss coffee," she said.

Tony frowned. "Why? I'm sure Steve can get you a cup."

Please don't answer, please don't answer, please don't answer! He thought downing the rest of his coffee. "Do you want me to make you some tea? I have fresh orange juice in the fridge."

"Oh thanks." Natasha grabbed a glass and poured herself some orange juice. She took a sip, coming over to sit between him and Tony. "I'm pregnant, Tony."

There.

It was said, and for a long moment he didn't know what to do or what to say. The elephant in the room seemed to grow more insistent with each passing moment and Steve wished it would go away. Natasha grabbed his hand, smiling at him. He returned it with an awkward smile of his own.

"Pregnant," Tony said. Natasha nodded. "Pregnant."

"Yes."

"How did this happen?"

"Well," Natasha said, that teasing smirk spreading across her face. "Steve stuck his—"

"I don't mean like that… I mean… how… how did nobody know you two were a thing! I mean aren't you and Clint—"

Natasha laughed. "Please Tony. Clint is like a brother to me. Besides, Clint's already got someone." She took a sip of her orange juice. "No pancakes today?" she asked, glancing at him. He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Didn't know you wanted any, plus Tony's here. Everything is off." He got up, taking his plate to the sink. "I'll get started on them." He glanced over his shoulder. "You want some too, right Tony?"

"Sure," Tony said, "why not."

"Okay." He licked his lips, getting everything ready for pancakes. The silence — ever present it seemed today — was broken only by his actions in the kitchen: the cracking of eggs, the pour of milk, the hum of the electric hand whisk, the sizzle of butter on a hot gridle. Nobody dared to say anything. Of course, he had questions burning on his tongue for Natasha: where did they stand? She said she loved him, but what did that mean for their relationship? Was she afraid of commitment? Would she want to marry him? Did she still see him as a friend with benefits despite claiming to love him? Peggy would probably say he was overthinking: he probably was, but he felt that these questions at least needed to be addressed. Not to mention the other questions about how this will impact the Avengers, their living situation, their entire lives.

"Something burning?" Natasha asked.

"Oh!" He flipped the pancakes, a little too done on one side, but that was okay. "Sorry, lost in thought," he said. Natasha hummed as she nodded, sipping at her orange juice.

"You okay?" Tony asked. He nodded. "So, when's the baby due?"

"January," Natasha said. "I'm hoping for a New Year's baby, but so long as it's healthy I'm happy. I want a boy."

"Boy's good. What about you, Steve? Boy or girl?"

He blinked, grabbing a plate and putting the finished pancakes on it before starting a new batch. "Boy sounds nice. Haven't given it much thought. I'd be happy so long as it's healthy." He set the plate down in front of Natasha, along with a fork and knight, syrup and butter.

"Thank Steve," she said. He nodded.

"So," Tony drawled, getting up to get more coffee. "How long have you two been… together?" he leaned against the counter and Steve could feel his eyes on him. There was no way to answer this question without going into details he didn't want to discuss.

"A while," Natasha said.

Tony hummed, sipping his coffee, only to top it off again before sitting back down. "Those are for me, right?" Tony asked, pointing to the pancakes on the gridle. Steve nodded, twirling the spatula in his hand. "Good." Another sip of his coffee. "Any plans on marriage?"

Natasha shrugged. "We haven't discussed it yet. Though, I don't see why I have to marry Steve just because I'm pregnant."

Because I child shouldn't be raised in an unstable home. That and it's the _right_ thing to do, he thought, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. Natasha doesn't want to get married — Natasha doesn't want to marry _me_. "Here Tony," he said, setting the second plate of pancakes in front of him. He turned off the gridle and put some plastic wrap over the bowl of batter so he could shove it in the fridge.

"Thanks Steve," Tony said. He nodded again and sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. Thankfully, Tony and Natasha were too busy eating to continue talking. He sat there, mulling over his thoughts: what Natasha had said, Tony's questions, his own personal desires. Natasha at some point asked Tony about his latest inventions and he was more than happy to yak their ears off about science and engineering talk that went way over Steve's head.

Natasha didn't want to get married. Natasha would leave him if it suited her, Natasha was the mother of his child. The coffee started to taste like ash. He got up and poured it down the sink, setting the cup in there and sighing. The window above the sink offered a view of the apartment building's courtyard: a father was playing with his children and all three had wide smiles as they romped about in the July sunshine. He wondered if that would ever be him and his child or would Natasha take his child from him when she decided to leave him. "Steve?" her voice caused him to look over at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He pushed himself away from the sink and leaned against it to face them. "Yeah. I'm fine."

She frowned. "You sure? You didn't eat anything."

He shrugged. "I had some toast." That only caused her frown to deepen. "I'm fine." He gave her a crooked smile in an effort to assuage her. He checked to make sure the gridle was off before announcing, "I'm going to take a walk."

"I'm coming with you," Tony said. "Have to stop by the florist anyway, nice talking to you Tasha."

"You too, Tony," she said, waving at them as they left the apartment. Steve sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats as he walked down the hall to the elevator. Pushing the button, he watched as Tony tapped on the screen of his phone, completely absorbed in the tiny device. The elevator dinged when it arrived, and the doors rumbled open. Both men stepped in and Steve hit the button to head down. They didn't say anything, the hum of the elevator was the only sound between them. There was another ding when they reached the ground floor, the doors rumbling open once more. "Something on your mind?" Tony asked as they walked out into the lobby; he waved at the clerk.

"We've been together since Shield fell," he said, making a face, "well, a few months later. Ii tried to make something work with Sharon, but it just didn't. That's when Nat and I started… Irunno whatcha call it, but we were together."

"Dating, Rogers, it's called dating." Tony pushed the door opened and both men squinted in the bright Brooklyn sunshine. It promised to be a hot day, the humidity was already starting to get oppressively sticky. There was that coiling sweet funk of trash behind the apartment complex and the heat of the asphalt. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Is it dating when she only saw you as a friend with benefits?" he asked. Uproarious laughter echoed from the sidewalk as a large group of teens shuffled pass. One even sported an Iron Man shirt, and another wore a purple shirt with a green Hulk fist. A car passed by the parking lot, rap music blaring loudly, and Steve winced at the profanity.

Tony gave a low whistle. "That's rough buddy. Are you sure she" — Steve nodded — "damn. Wow, okay, huh… have you _talked_ to her about any of this?" he asked.

"No. I don't want to scare her off," he said. "Tony, she's pregnant with my kid and I don't what to do." Car went bay and even though it was a weekend, the streets were still packed with people. Teenagers and families and tourists, heading to their various destinations, unaware that the heroes that saved them also lived seemingly ordinary lives.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes." The answer came readily. Of course, he loved Natasha. He didn't know when it started — maybe when he launched her into the air towards a Chitauri speeder or maybe it was when she kissed him on the escalator to hide from Rumlow or maybe it was when she kissed him on the cheek in the graveyard or when they watched _Hercules_ together — but he knew that he loved her. And he loved their baby, despite it not even being born yet. All his life, he wanted a family. He never got the chance to be that soldier coming home from war, and now it felt like he may finally get the chance to put down the shield (for a little bit at least) and rest. Finally, he could be a little bit selfish and build a quiet life for himself with the woman he loved and their child. A place to call home, a place he could come back to when he needed to pick up his shield again. A safe haven for his heart.

"Does she love you?" Tony asked.

Plucking at his sweat soaked shirt, he gave a half-hearted shrug. "She said she does," he replied, though he wasn't sure how good Natasha's word was. Tony shrugged.

"Then you have nothing to worry about. She loves you, you love her. Easy peasy pumpkin easy," Tony said, patting him on the shoulder. "Have a good day Steve! And come by later to pick up your birthday present! Don't want it to be sitting in the garage for an extra month!"

My birthday present? "Alright! I'll be over later then," he said and sighed. Glancing up, he saw the blue sky ringed by the tall grey skyscrapers. A plane droned on through the sky, leaving a misty trail of vapor. Tony was right. Natasha loved him, he should stop worrying and just be happy. He was going to be a father and he had a wonderful girlfriend. "Just… one day at a time," he said. Everything was going to be fine… right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> So… this is turning into something longer than I intended. For the forseeable future, we'll be sticking with Tony's POV.
> 
> To my Catching Feelings readers: I have no forgotten the story! In fact I worked on it a little bit yesterday. Working nights is messing with my writing and sleeping schedule to the point I've been writing most of Fireworks, Baby long hand. Once Fireworks, Baby is finished I'll be working on Catching Feelings long hand as well.
> 
> Check out Catching Feelings if you want more Romanogers content from me.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!


	3. Part III

Taking Tony's advice was easier than he expected. He did later go to the Tower to visit Tony, where Tony one again stated that if Natasha said she loved him, the he should worry about it. "I know," he said, running his hand along the leather seat of the new Harley that Tony had generously gotten him for his birthday, "but —"

"But what, Rogers?" Tony asked, tinkering with an old car engine. 80s metal music was blasting through the speakers, and it made his ears hurt. "There's no buts in this equation. She loves you. Plain as day." He frowned; Tony shrugged. "I look at Pepper the same way she looks at you."

"She said she didn't want to get married."

Tony spun around to face him. "Marriage, isn't the end all, be all in a relationship. I mean, look at me and Pepper. We're happy together, just the way we are. If she ends up pregnant tomorrow, I'd be happy. No need to marry her. We know who we are as a couple."

"You wouldn't want your child to have a stable home and family?"

"Marriage doesn't mean stability, Steve." Tony turned back to his engine. There was an uncomfortable silence as Tony's words. Of course, there had been divorces and people in loveless marriages, but those scenarios had been whispered about with caution and scandal. A woman leaving her husband — even if he beat her — was a scandal and one of the worst things that could happen. Neighbours frowned and shook their heads, clearly the woman must've done something to continuously displease her husband — and the children! They would whisper, was nobody thinking of the children. Divorce was treated in the same manner, and it was a social nightmare if a woman lived with a man and had a child with him and they never married. Only whores lived such a way and no good self-respecting woman would be caught dead in such a scenario.

Still, he had to remind himself, that this was now New York of the 21st century. The social norms had shifted, men and women could live together without needing to get married, can have children without needing to get married, divorce was all but common practice. The mentality was almost as if they believed divorce was plan B if the marriage didn't work out. You can get divorced, find another spouse and maybe that marriage would work out and if not, just rinse and repeat. He felt it was a shitty way to view relationships, but it was the way of the future. Sighing, he traced a pattern on the leather of the motorcycle's seat. "I know, Tony. But a child has a better chance at a good future with both parents."

"Really?" Tony looked over his shoulder. "You only had your mom and you turned out just fine."

A rueful grimace twisted his mouth. "You don't know how many times I wished I had my dad."

"At least your dad was dead," Tony said. Steve frowned. "You can't do anything about being dead. Rather have a dead father than one that belittles you and tells you that you'll never amount to anything and works all the time."

"I'm sorry Tony," he said. It always hurt, hearing about the type of father Howard turned in to. Then again Howard did tell him once that he chose to focus on work than trying to figure out how women think. So it was almost expected that Howard wouldn't be the best father in the world — still he had held out hope. "If I had been there, I would've—"

Tony shrugged. "Save it Rogers," he said. "It is what it is. Probably would never be the man I am today if my dad raised me differently. Here" — he tossed the keys over — "catch."

"Thanks." He caught the keys. "Well, I'll see you around," he said, straddling the motorcycle and turning her on. The engine rumbled to life, the loud purr filling the room and vibrating into his bones. A giddy smile spread across his lips.

"Yeah, don't be a strange," Tony said. He laughed, waving and waited for Tony to open the garage bay door, before speeding off into the city, bathed in the July sunshine.

* * *

Things did settle into a routine of sorts between him and Natasha. Not once in the proceeding weeks since his birthday did he mention anything about their relationship, having decided to adhere to Tony's advice like glue. Around the middle of July, he and Natasha made the trip to the tower and he saw for the first time the grainy black and white image of their child. The baby didn't look much like a human — at this point — even with Bruce pointing out the head and limbs, but he could easily see how the little alien thing would become human. Everything became more real when Bruce hit a button on the machine and a rapid _whoosh-whoosh_ sound filled the room.

A heartbeat.

His eyes widened in sheer wonder, and when he looked at Natasha's face — saw her wide smile — he knew his own faced mirrored the expression. He squeezed Natasha's hand; their child was alive. "Heartbeat sounds good," Bruce said pushing his glasses up his nose with a smile, "nice and strong."

"When will we be able to find out if it's a boy or a girl"" he asked, helping Natasha sit up and handing her some paper towels to wipe the jelly of her belly.

"You don't want it to be a surprise?" she asked, looking at him. "I figured you rather be surprised."

"Nah." He shook his head. "Not when we have technology that let's us find out," he said. "My momma told me that if I had been born a girl, she was going to call me Naomi Grace."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "I can't see you as a Naomi… or a woman for that matter."

He chuckled. "I rather know so we don't decided on something horrid for a girl like Dolores Jane." He held out his hand for her.

"I'd neve let you name our child something god awful like that," she said, smiling as she took his hand. "I personally like Sarah for a girl" — she grinned — "it means _princess_ in Hebrew."

That caught him off guard. "Oh." He blinked, wondering if Natasha knew that Sarah was his mother's name — did he ever tell Natasha what his mother's name was? He frowned, not being able to recall if he did or not. "Sarah's nice." He gave her a little tug, and she slid off the bed with a little hop.

"Well, Tasha's not far enough along. Usually we try to look at the gender around the sixteen to twenty weeks" — Bruce paused — "so around the fourth of fifth month."

"See, we have a while to go," Natasha said, smiling at him as her hand settled over her belly. The gesture was surprisingly tender, and he smiled, watching her. There was a glow — an aura — about her, that he could only equate to the one he saw around his mother whenever she smiled at him as she tucked him in for the night. The grace of motherhood was befitting for Natasha. "Is there anything else Bruce?"

Steve swallowed, realizing that he was still holding her hand. Letting go, he glanced around, picking up her purse instead. "Here."

"Thanks," she said, slipping the strap over her shoulder. Frowning, he curled his fingers into a fist when she tried to take his hand again, catching a strange expression on her face when she gave up trying to take his hand again.

"Yeah," Bruce said, looking a bit nervous (more than he usually did) and glanced at Natasha. "I've taken you off the active duty roster."

"What?" Natasha's questioned came out as a soft venomous hiss. "Bruce, I'm barely showing and if you think that—"

"Natasha, listen, it's not that you aren't capable, it's the… your health and that of your child's." Bruce took his glasses off and cleaned them. "As your doctor" — he slipped them back on — "that's my primary concern."

"Bruce, I'm—"

"Don't feel too bad," Bruce said, looking a bit smug. "I put Steve in reserves. He'll only be called upon if absolutely necessary."

He swallowed. "Who's going to lead the Avengers in my place?" he asked. It was unexpected: he was the leader of the Avengers, Captain America. Sitting on the side lines wasn't exactly his style; he also figured he would have missions to distract him from worrying about him and Natasha and what exactly their relationship status is. Now it looked like he had nothing better to do than fret. Natasha, for her part, looked mollified that he was going to be benched as well.

"Well, I figured that if you're needed it would be on the level of an evil world ending robot or alien invasion," Bruce said, chuckling weakly. "Other than that, Tony can probably handle anything else that comes up. I mean, it's just mopping up Hydra." Bruce gave a little shrug. "Fury also mentioned calling an old friend. Said it was high time she got her pretty snarky ass back to Earth."

Steve glanced at Natasha, wondering if she knew anything about this friend that Fury called. Natasha shook her head. "What if someone discovers an evil clone of me?" he asked. "What then?"

"Steve," Natasha said, putting her hand on his arm. "Relax. Tony can handle mopping up Hydra — especially with this friend Fury called. It's all just blasting them into submission, anyway. He's good at that." She sighed when he pulled away. "And I guess that's acceptable," she added with a grumble. "I still don't like it though."

"I'm not asking you to like it Natasha," Bruce said, "all I'm asking is that you accept it and obey your doctor. You do this and you'll have a healthy baby."

"Okay," she whispered, rubbing her face. He smiled at her, reaching for her and breathing a small sigh of relief when she snuggled into his side. "Thanks Bruce."

"No problem."

There was one more matter of concern that was pressing at the forefront of his mind. "Can you tell if the baby has the serum?" Steve asked. That was something that had been needling him ever since Natasha explained to him how she was even able to conceive in the first place. If the child had the serum — then that posed all sorts of potential dangers (a whole slew of unsavory types wanting to kidnap their child or Natasha while she was still pregnant sprang forth in his mind). If it didn't, well… he wasn't sure exactly how he'd feel about the baby _not_ having the serum. Unconsciously, he pulled Natasha closer to him.

"Not at the moment maybe when she's further along I could do an amniocentesis — basically we take a sample of the amniotic fluid — but there is a risk of miscarriage," Bruce said. "My professional advice is to wait until the baby is born and take a blood sample. Cross reference it with Steve's. Which will be a good thing, cause then we'll be able to pinpoint the genetic markers for the serum."

"Will… will — if the baby has the serum, will it manifest itself?" he asked. Bruce scratched his nose.

"Possibly. But the serum was intended for an adult. If the baby has the serum at _most_ the baby would have a bigger appetite than a normal baby, probably will be on the above average side of development, possibly stronger, also possibly get colds. My guess I that the serum will fully start to manifest itself during the teenage years after puberty" — Bruce smiled — "but don't worry about any of that. That's a long way off. Our focus now is getting Natasha through the pregnancy and having a happy healthy mom and baby."

It was all so _easy_. Bruce wasn't even concerned that about potential dangers. The appointment was clearly finished, and he followed Natasha out, responding to her questions in monosyllables as they descended in the elevator. Tossing the conversation around in his head, he realized it was just one more thing to worry about. Along with all the other things he had to worry about. None of the was apparent though; he was good at compartmentalization. Everything seemed to be going normal — typical for a young couple expecting their first child: Going shopping with Natasha for baby item, reading up on pregnancy, fretting about being a father, reading books on child development — though he wasn't sure how much that would apply to his kid considering the serum — and even spending hours with Clint and Sam putting together the nursery. Tony had generously gotten them a new apartment (all paid for by Stark Industries), with a lovely view of the East River and the Manhattan skyline. The nursey was on the northside of the penthouse apartment (he almost shat himself when Tony gave him the key and told him the floor), allowing afternoon sunlight to pour in. Since they had yet to find out the baby's sex he had settled for a nice creamy eggshell white and spent many Saturday's painting zoo animals and iconic nursey rhyme characters on the wall.

On the Avengers front — everything seemed to be going well without him. The new girl (as Tony called her) was a former Air Force pilot named Carol Danvers with the code name _Captain Marvel_. Blonde and blue eyed, she was nice and much to his surprise hit it off with Natasha right away (which was always a good thing). As far as he could tell her powers consisted of superhuman strength and durability, the ability to fly, and what he could only describe as the power of stars (Carol called it photon blasts and going binary). Still, with her officially joining the team and being their stand in leader, he was officially off active duty. They still kept him involved by giving him reports to read and sign off on, but his shield was sitting in the closet of their new bedroom gathering dust and he spent more hours at the gym working off pent up energy that he'd like. He felt restless, unable to help people and keep his mind off his relationship troubles — though he and Natasha did fall into a sort of couple's bliss, marveling as her body changed and could support a new life. Especially when their baby started to move and kick — he'll always remember the smile on her face when they shared that moment when they felt their baby kick for the first time. At the fifth month check up, they found out that they were having a boy and it was then that he saw how human their baby was: he had Natasha's nose, his chin, ten fingers and toes. He was even trying to suck his thumb.

A miracle was the only word he could use to describe it, and he told that much to Sam one day in early October while at Zales. Keeping the conversation focused on Natasha and the baby and all things involved in getting ready for the baby kept Sam from gushing about how well the team functioned under Carol's leadership. While Carol was nowhere near the tactical genius he was, Sam did praise Carol for her tactical ability. How Carol held the team together and empathized with almost everyone — especially Tony, which caught Steve by surprise — and they were even doing Team Night Thursdays (basically a night for hanging out with the team and bonding over movies, board games and lots of pizza and nachos). Hearing how _well_ the team was doing without him hurt. So, he kept it to topics that didn't remind him of that.

"Well, I'm glad everything is working out with Carol," he said as he studied the engagement rings on display. The mall wasn't so busy, it was a weekday afternoon. All the kids were in school and most of the people wandering around were young adults just getting off their part time morning shifts or young mothers done with their community college classes but too early to pick their kid up from the sitter. "She seems really nice."

"She isn't going to replace you Steve," Sam said from where he was standing by the bracelets. "And I'm happy for you and Natasha. Truly, I am." The sales associated tried to wheedle her way into Sam's line of sight, but he merely smiled and waved her off, causing her to pout.

"Looking for something for Maria?" he asked, nodding at the bracelets. Sam ducked his head and a shy smile spread across his friend's face.

"Nah." Sam waved a dismissive hand. "Maria doesn't like any fancy jewelry. Would be nice though. Her complexion is just dark enough to offset diamonds nicely."

"Then get her something," he said as another sales person came over to assist him in getting an engagement ring. "I got Natasha diamond earrings once. She berated me for doing it, but she does wear them for special occasions." He pointed to the single diamond solitaire, giving the man Natasha's ring size. Sam chuckled.

"She didn't castrate you?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "Nat's tough as nails but she does have a spot." Flashing a smile at the jeweler, the man gave a bobbing bow before heading into the back to see if they had any rings in the size he wanted.

"So have you two picked out any names?" Sam asked, caving and waving the associate back over to look at a diamond bracelet that caught his eye. The woman happily pulled it out and started telling him all about the amazing choice he was making.

"Uh… well, sorta." Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. "We have a list. Well, _I_ have a list," he said, with a small grimace. "I really like Beau, Ian, Edwin, Ethan, and Henri." He paused. "Oh and Nathan."

"And Natasha?" Sam asked, flashing the associate a suave smile and agreed to purchase the bracelet.

"James." Glancing down at his feet, he noticed the carpet was a horrid mixture of navy blue and a color he could only describe as dark vomit green (the latter being the color for the fractal designs). "James Clinton. Said neither of us would be where we are today if it weren't for Bucky and Clint."

"And you don't like it?" Sam frowned, as he handed the associate his credit card. "James Clint Rogers does have a nice ring to tit. Though Samuel Rogers does too."

"Tony's been bugging me to name the baby after him. Keeps reminding me Anthony Rogers doesn't sound that bad." He rubbed his face, and the jeweler came back with the proper sized ring. Nodding to reconfirm he wanted that ring, he fell in line behind Sam to buy it. "I mean, I like the name James, but—"

"But what? Why is there always a but with you?" Sam asked, accepting the slender velvet box from the sales associate.

" _But_ ," he stressed, "I personally know four Jameses. Some even have kids and grandkids with the name, who all came clamoring to see me after the Battle of New York. For example, my friend Falsworth had a son, who had a son, who had a son and guess what the great-grandson's name is?" Steve flashed the clerk a smile and handed over his credit card. Money wasn't an issue (even though Tony complained about him being miserly), considering he was give three and a half million dollars in back pay and gets a big fat compensation check from the Army for "injuries sustained in the line of duty" (the politically correct way of saying: sorry you got frozen for seventy years and nobody bothered to seriously look for you. Here's some money in hopes that you don't take legal action against us).

"I don't know," Sam said, leaning against the counter by the register. "Charles? Eugene?"

"James Montgomery Falsworth IV." He stared at Sam. "Four generations of the same name!"

"Okay, your point would be valid if and only if you were name the baby Steven Grant." He gave Sam a deadpan look. "Did she really?" Sam's brows shot up.

"Yup," he said, popping the p. "It was a joke but… then again I can never with Natasha sometimes." He accepted the small velvet box and his credit card, signing off on the receipt and shoving the customer copy into his back pocket.

"Look," Sam said as they wandered out into the mall. "I think James Clint is a good name. And don't poopoo it just because you know a lot of guys with the same name. I went to school with five guys all named Dillan. It means something to her and to you. I guess you can go with your father's name."

"Joseph?" Steve asked, leading Sam up the steps to the food court. "Nah. Never met the man. Died before I was born."

"Then go with James," Sam said. "I know how much Bucky means to you. Honoring him—"

"He isn't dead," he said tightly. Even after almost killing him, then pulling him out of the Potomac, Bucky had remained in the wind. He did look for him. Traveled over all over Europe and Asia and Africa looking. Even ventured to South America and Australia. Nothing. In the end he was forced to admit defeat and hoped Natasha's network of old contacts would eventually — maybe — turn something up. "Stop treating him like he's dead."

"Steve…"

He sighed, putting on his best smile for the girl working the hot dog stand at the food court. "You want something?" he gestured to the menu. Sam shook his head. Shrugging, he ordered four hot dogs and a large Sprite and a pretzel with cheese. The girl didn't question the order, and in a few minutes he and Sam were sitting down, and he was munching away on his hot dog.

"Steve, I'm sorry," Sam said after a few more minutes of awkward silence. "Look, we don't have to discuss that. How are you and Nat doing?"

"Fine." He didn't want to talk about that either and shoved more hot dog into his mouth. Tony's advice had been sound so far and he didn't want to ruin a good thing, but… it still needed to be addressed. He was still afraid she was going to leave him. Sam was staring at him with large puppy dog eyes. "We're fine Sam."

"Still haven't talked to her about it have you?" He shook his head. "Steve. You just bought a ring, she's what? Almost six months pregnant with your kid! And you still haven't addressed the fact that she saw you — up until Clint nailed her ass and dragged her back to you — as nothing more than a fuck buddy?"

The way Sam put it made it sound crude. "Don't be so crass," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. The hot dog in his hand suddenly lost all of its delicious appeal. The paper crinkled as he set it down. Sam reached over and stole a few sips from his Sprite. The silence between them filled up with the echoey voices of the mall-goers. Mall still overwhelmed him at times, but sometimes he just liked to walk around and think. "I know I have to talk to her about it but… we're doing okay so… why ruin a good thing, right?" He gave Sam a smile.

"Because if you get down on one knee and she bolts you will never see your son. Because if one day you ask her something and she bolts, you'll never see your son. This isn't healthy for you or for her or your kid."

He took a long sip of the soda. It never crossed his mind that Natasha would keep him from his son. She knew he loved their baby, she wouldn't be that cruel. Then again, mothers would go to any lengths to protect their children. "I know," he said, setting the cup down with a soft thunk. "I know, I have to talk to her, but…"

"If you love her — and you kid — then you'll talk to her."

"Alright," he sighed, "alright. I'll talk to her." He just hoped Natasha would take it well. He didn't want to her lose her or their son.

"It'll be fine Steve. She loves you."

"The thing is," he said began, moving the straw up and down and wincing at the squeaky sound it made, "I'm worried that she doesn't."

Same frowned. "All the more reason to talk to her. Communication is the key to any good relationship. You know that! If you are afraid to talk to your own girlfriend then how long do you think a marriage would last?" Sam gave him a pointed look. Sam had a degree in counselling and psychology. Working at the VA in Manhattan and at a youth center in Harlem; he knew this stuff and how people ticked.

"I know Sam, it's just… what if she does leave?"

"What if she doesn't?" Sam cocked a brow. "You two took a chance at a relationship, even if it started off as something else. The fact is you two took the jump. Now you just have to take another jump. And look at it this way" — Sam nudge his shoulder — "she came back that night."

He snorted. "Yeah. Clint brought her back."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You and I both know Natasha Romanoff does not do anything she does not want to do." Sam smirked. "Your kid is going to be beyond stubborn, considering he gets it from both of his parents."

He chuckled at that, taking another sip of soda. Sam was right; their son was going to be stubborn and Natasha didn't do anything she didn't want to do. "Alright," he said, feeling a little bit better about the conversation he didn't want to have but needed to have with Natasha. The hot dog looked delicious again and he scarfed all four down in a matter of minutes. "We better get home. You think the baby shower is done yet?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno, but it probably will be by the time we get there," he said as they both stood. Sam swiped his pretzel and they ended up splitting it as they headed back to Sam's car.

* * *

Sam had been right. The baby shower was more or less over. Laura had left early, due to not feeling well, Pepper had some international company emergency that she needed to sort out and Betty went back to the tower with Pepper. Maria left a few minutes before they got there so that left Carol with Natasha. The two women were laughing about something and he just watched Natasha for a long moment as she lounged on the couch and Carol in the chair next to it. As always Natasha noticed him first and gave him a small tender smile as her finger traced a mindless pattern over her belly. "Hey," he said, smiling at her.

"Hey." She returned the smile. Carol cleared her throat and stood up, gathering up the few remaining bits of trash. "Thanks for stopping by Carol. I had a lot of fun."

"No problem. It was fun to get out of the tower," she said, putting the trash in a large black trash bag, which she knotted close and slung over her shoulder. "Hey-a Cap."

"Captain," he greeted. Carol laughed, patting his shoulder. "How's things going with the Avengers?" He was never sure how to talk to Carol. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Natasha and Peggy: strong and fiercely independent but with a softer side she revealed only to her close friends. If Carol hadn't been called in to replace him (even though he knew that wasn't true, it still felt like that), he supposed he would have gotten along with her a lot better.

"Good," Carol said. "Tasha, mind if I borrow your mind for a few minutes?" she asked. Steve frowned.

"Sure."

"Great, walk me to my car?" she asked, offering him a disarming smile. Sighing, he glanced at Natasha then nodded at Carol. "Great." Carol lead the way, closing the door behind them. They didn't say anything until they got into the elevator and Carol set the bag of trash down. "Do you hate me?" she asked.

"What?" That caught him off guard. "No, I don't hate you. Why did you think I hated you?" He didn't hate her. Jealous — certainly — but hate — _never_. Carol seemed to relax, as if he had just lifted a great weight from her shoulders.

"Good" — she gave a self-affirming nod — "for a minute there I thought you hated me. I know Fury called me in because the Avengers needed a leader — not that Tony couldn't handle leading the Avengers in mopping up Hydra but —"

"I get it," he said. "And thanks. For taking care of them while I'm on… paternity leave, I guess."

She smiled. "It's just that… it seems like you dislike me. You're always very formal around me and you're never over on Thursday nights, so I thought you… didn't like me."

Frowning, he stared at her. "What do you mean: I'm never over on Thursday nights? That's Team Night."

Carol furrowed her brow. "Yeah, so?" She gave him a flummoxed look. "You and Natasha are still Avengers, right?"

"Yeah?" he said, the wheels in his head clicking into place. "But she's pregnant."

"So? Last I checked pregnant women can still hang out with friends and play board games and watch movies." The elevator dinged when they reached the lobby. "I know Tasha and I have met up a few times, but you seemed to be avoiding me. So I just—"

"Wait," he said, "are you telling me that you _wanted_ us to come to these Team Night things on Thursday?" The feeling that he had just made a huge mistake started to overwhelm him. Carol glared at him as if he was dense.

"Of course, you two are apart of the team. So, you aren't out there, kicking ass with us, you're still Avengers." Carol slung the bag of trash over her shoulder as she headed out of the elevator. He followed her, cold guilt spreading to every corner of his body.

"Jeez," he said, "I'm sorry Carol. I didn't…" he felt awful. Team Night had clearly been her thing, something that she put together to build comradery between them and he had assumed… well he didn't know what he assumed. "I'm sorry," he finished, sounding lame. "I guess… I guess I just felt like I wasn't needed anymore, that's all."

Carol gave him a sad smile, leading him out of the building and into the parking lot. The air was cool, pleasant even as the scent of fall was on the wind. "You're always going to be needed Steve. I can hold everyone together, but you're the heart and soul of the team. So is Natasha. I'm sorry I didn't extend the invitation to you two or made it clearer that you two were always invited."

Biting his lip, he nodded. "I'm sorry too. I was just… I'm just dealing with a lot right now and when Fury called you in, I felt like I was being replaced."

"Nah, Steve. You aren't. We all just figured that with you and Natasha having a baby and everything going on in your guys' personal lives we figured that well… even if we didn't actually say it, you'd figure out that Team Night always had a standing open invitation."

"Oh." It all made sense now. Tony always saying, you should drop by. Bruce encouraging them to stay longer after check ups to see how things are going outside the realm of everything baby. And they both ignored it.

She punched him in the shoulder. "I'm not going back to space anytime soon. Been away from Earth too long, so maybe after your kid's born, we can work together. Not that I don't think I can lead the team, I wouldn't mind seeing how you do it."

He chuckled. "Alright. Looking forward to it, Air Force." He winked. She grinned.

"Later Army," she said, waving as she headed towards the dumpster. Chuckling, he watched her until she turned the corner to head to the back of the building before heading back inside. That was one thing that was worrying him crossed off the list. Carol didn't hate him, and nobody was trying to exclude him and Natasha from actively being involved with the Avengers. Carol and everyone else, where just being considerate for what was going on in their lives. When he got back into his apartment, he felt better than he had in weeks. Natasha smiled at him from her new seat at the table as she shorted through all the gifts she'd gotten.

"You and Carol good?" she asked, as he came over to snag a kiss from her. Spread out before her on the table were various items she had received. A lot of clothes: cute little outfits, plain white onesies, socks, cute little shoes, shirts with his shield and the Avengers' logo, a few with the Black Widow log, cute little hats. There were a few blankets, spit up rag, bibs, binkies, teething rings, toys, a note in Tony's hand writing promising them lots of diapers, bottles and formula and a strange machine that Natasha told him was a breast pump. Parents book and books on child development had been stacked in a corner.

"Yeah," he said, looking at the gift in front of her. Two ceramic jars: one for first hair cut and one for first lost tooth, and a scrapbook from conception to age five. "Did—"

"Carol and Maria cleaned up, so you don't have to worry," Natasha said, pulling out the chair next to her and patting it. He sat down, pulling the scrapbook closer and looking through it. It surprised him how artsy Natasha could be when she let herself be. She had already put the early sonogram images into the book. Many of the pregnancy milestones had already been filled out, like the date when "mommy first felt me kick". Looking at the most recent image, he couldn't help but feel the bubble of excitement well up in him. All of this made his son feel very real.

"This is wonderful" — he flipped to the beginning to glance at the name. He frowned — "I only wished you hadn't put a name in the scrapbook yet." He closed it with a sigh. Natasha frowned as he stood up; she said something, but he ignored it, going to their bedroom instead. He stuffed the ring box in his sock draw. Waiting, he listened for the scrap of a chair moving back, but she didn't seem to want to follow him. Knowing he had to get this dreaded conversation over with, he went back into the living room. "Pardon?" he asked, sitting down again. "Didn't catch that."

She cocked a brow. "You're a terrible liar." She got up and went to the couch. He followed her, sitting down after her, and putting her feet in his lap. Smiling he began to rub her foot and she moaned. "Steve… that feels so good." He smirked. "I asked what's wrong with it? It's a good name."

"It's a fine name," he agreed, pressing his thumb into a knot near the ball of her foot. She gasped, relaxing into the cushions of the couch. "It's just that I know — personally — five men named James, plus several of them have kids and grandkids also named James." Natasha groaned, hand squeezing the back of the couch. He chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were about to come."

She laughed. "Seriously, though," she said, "it feels good enough for me to do so." They both paused to watch the alien ripple of her belly as their baby moved. Natasha's smile was as bright as a million suns. "That's so weird," she said, her hand resting on her swollen stomach. "Hi Jamie," she whispered, running her hand up and down her belly.

Steve sighed. "Giving him a nickname already, huh?" He tugged at her little toe until he heard the knuckle crack.

"You started calling me Nat after the Battle of New York," she pointed out, "only fair."

"Are you sure you don't like any of the other names?" he asked, in a last ditch effort to get her to reconsider the choice of name.

"I'm sure Steve," she said. "I mean, Kyle Rogers? No. Just no. Besides, we're honoring Bucky."

Sighing, he nodded, resigned to his fate of knowing many people named James. "James Clinton it is then. Guess you can put the name in ink now." He dug a knuckle into her arch.

She hummed, wiggling her foot to keep him motivated. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, making small talk about the baby shower and the gifts they received. Tony promising them diapers and baby furniture for the nursey, Carol telling her about child rearing techniques from various part of the universe (many of which Steve felt didn't apply to a human baby). He checked out for most of the conversation: smiling and making an agreeable noise when required, his thoughts consumed with trying to figure out how to bring up the conversation he didn't want to have but knew he needed to. Something in his gut told him he needed to discuss this before she gave birth.

"Hey Nat?" he asked, deciding to just jump into the deep end.

"Hmm?"

"Remember how you told Tony you didn't want to marry me?"

"I remember," she said, her voice neutral but weary. "Why?"

"Are you… would you ever one day… maybe… consider marry me?" he asked, staring at her foot in his lap. She had gotten her toes painted with little Halloween images. It surprised him that he never noticed that before.

"Steve," she said, a tinge of annoyance lacing her tone. "I don't want to marry you—"

"I see," he said, cutting her off. "I mean, that's okay. I'm perfectly happy with what we have. I love you" — he grinned — "no need to do a dog and pony show. So long as we… know and—"

"Let me finish," she said. He clapped his mouth shut and nodded. "I don't want to marry you just because I'm pregnant and you're the father." Her expression softened. "I want to marry you because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

The silence ticked by and he had to swallow several times before asking, "And you don't love me enough to spend the rest of your life with me?" He stood up. "Even though you're pregnant with my son?"

"It was never supposed to happen Steve—"

"So, what? I'm just going to wake up and find you and my son gone one day?" The burn of unshed tears constricted his throat and he ran a hand over his mouth. Natasha's silence spoke volumes and he felt like a naïve fool for buying that engagement ring.

"Steve, you don't understand—"

"Because you never talk to me, Natasha!" he shouted, ignoring her surprised flinch. "You never talk to me. So I just go along with it, because I… I'm afraid if I say something the house of cards is going to come crashing down. I mean… take away the Black Widow, Captain America, being Avengers… can we really make this work? You bolted when I said I love you!"

Natasha hung her head. "It… none of this is… was supposed to happen."

"But it is! It is happening, Nat! Denying it won't make it go away, pushing me away… won't change the fact you're pregnant. I know you have scars from the Red Room, but…" he stopped, unsure what else to say. When it came down to it, they were maybe too different. Besides being heroes and Avengers, what did they have in common? Why did he even love her she always pushed him away. "Am I still a friend with benefits?" he asked. She looked up at him, a mix of emotions on her face, her green eyes bright (with fury or unshed tears, he didn't know). But she didn't say anything, just lowered her head, splaying both hands over her belly as if she was protecting their baby from his ire.

"I love you," she whispered.

He snorted. "It's hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is," he said, turning away from her. When she didn't say anything, he let out the breath he was holding. A soldier didn't love a spy. Especially a spy like her. He went to the door, grabbing his car keys from the bowl they kept them.

"Where are you going?" she asked, a plaintive note in her voice.

"Out for a drive, don't know when I'll be back," he said. Don't know if I want to come back.

In the movies the girl would fall at the man's feet, begging him to stay so they could talk, but life wasn't like the movies and Natasha just whispered a soft acknowledgement. It irked him that she wouldn't even fight for them. That their relationship wasn't important to her. That she would rather him walk out of her life and their son's than to protest against it. Sighing, he opened the door. "I've been a damn fool," he muttered and left her there in their penthouse apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> Decided to throw Carol in for good measure. Note: I base Carol off more of her comics version than the way she's presented in the MCU. 
> 
> Also, Sam and Maria Hill are dating. ;P
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> PS: Tell me why you ship Steve and Nat or what do you see as their common ground?


	4. Part IV

He was halfway down I-95 when he realized he forgot his cell phone. Too late to turn back, Steve took the first exit — ending up somewhere in New Jersey and drove until he found an old timey diner that still appeared to be open at two in the morning. Th parking lot wasn't crowded, and only a had a few cars and some big rig trucks. The night shift waitress — a plump woman that had seen better days — glanced up at him. "What can I getcha?" she asked. He licked his lips.

"Do you happen to have a pay phone?" he asked. "I forgot my phone and… I should call my girlfriend." It was a plausible story, and he didn't want to go into too much detail. The waitress nodded to the antique pay phone outside, illuminated by one florescent light. "Thanks." He left, drinking in the cool October night air. The last moths of the season fluttered around the light and he picked up the phone. Feeding it some quarters the operator informed him that the phone was no in use and to dial his number. He called Natasha's cell. It rang, and rang, and rang. "C'mon Nat, pick up," he hissed, tapping his foot. "Pick up!"

 _Hi, you reached Natasha's voice mail. Can't talk right now. Leave a message and I'll get to you when I can._ There was a beep after the message; he hung up the phone the phone. It wasn't too late to turn back now. Head home and apologize for being an ass, fix things with Natasha because he did love her, and he knew she loved him, even if Natasha didn't readily show it. The dial tone droned in his ear and a couple of moths fluttered down close to him. Hanging up, he walked back to his car and got in. Behind him was the highway, he could see lights of cars zooming pass and wondered where they were going. Sighing, he wondered where he was going too. Life had taken him unexpectedly to the future the day he told Erskine he was from Brooklyn. From skinny Steve Rogers who should have lived a normal life in the mid-20th Century Brooklyn to Captain America: hero, Avenger, savior of the world and super soldier. If he looked back on his life, there just seemed too many odds that he somehow overcame to get to this point. Wife. Children. Home and family. Once upon a time it was all he wanted. All he wanted out of life was dame to look at him like he wasn't a pariah, marry her and have a nice little family.

Steve stared the car and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, heading south towards DC.

At one point, he pulled into a rest stop, found the payphone and tried calling Natasha again only to get her voice mail message. Maybe she really didn't love him. Maybe she already left, got a new phone, was making a new life for herself… he shook his head. It was insane. She was heavily pregnant, and he knew Natasha loved their baby, she wouldn't jeopardize James' health like that. Would she? He pushed around the quarters in his hand before feeding them into the pay phone. He dialed another number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sharon. It's me, Steve."

"Steve? It's like… four in the morning, where are you?" she asked, and he heard the rustle of sheets through the receiver. He sighed, looking around the mostly empty rest stop.

"Dunno. Maryland, I think. I'm at a rest stop on I-95 South. You still in DC?" he asked, glancing at his watch. Another car pulled in, a man and woman got out, heading to the little building that had left over coffee and two vending machines.

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you mind if I crash on your couch until Peg's nursing home accepts visitors?" he asked, lifting a hand to a passing trucker as he was walking back to his big rig. There was silence at the other end, the big rig started up, lights flaring into the darkness eye piercingly bright.

"Sure. But Steve… why are you all the way down here? Last I heard you and Romanoff—"

"It's complicated," he said. "And… I just wanted to talk to Peggy."

"Okay, but Steve" — Sharon paused — "she's having more bad days than good ones."

He sighed, figuring that was the case. "Don't worry," he said, "she'll recognize me. She always does."

"Steve, I don't think —"

"See you in a few hours?" he asked. Sharon sighed into the receiver. The man and woman went back to their car and had a brief argument before they got into the car and drove off. He frowned, watching the car and glancing at the plate. If he had his phone he'd call the cops and tell them to look out for that car as there may be something uncouth going on, but he didn't so he let it go.

"Yeah, okay. Call me when you're close."

He chuckled. "Forgot my phone in Brooklyn."

"God damn it, Rogers," Sharon hissed. "Fine. Whatever. Just come."

"I will," he said, the words tingled on his lips. "See ya soon Sharon."

"Yeah, you too." She hung up and the operator told him his options. Hanging up the phone, he shoved his hands in his pockets and for one crazy moment thought about turning around and heading back to Brooklyn. Back home. Back to Natasha.

Instead, h got into his car and continued onto DC.

* * *

The sky was a pale slate grey by the time he pulled into the gas station. The air was cool though a tad muggy due to the Indian summer they were having. In the east layered lines of pink, orange, and gold blossomed from the horizon. Dawn wasn't far off and he had about forty-five minutes left before he reached Sharon's place.

Steve leaned against his car, watching the numbers tick along as he filled up his tank. There was a loud thunk and the numbers stopped. Sighing, he pulled the nozzle out, and screwed the cap back on. He got into his car, opening his wallet to shove the receipt in when something fluttered out. It landed on his lap and for a moment all he could do was stare at it. It was a picture of a baby. The image was grainy and tinted a weird golden orange, but it was a baby. A smile was curling on those tiny lips, and Steve saw that the baby had Natasha's button nose and her delicate cheek bones, yet his strong jaw and chin. Already, a fine dusting of hair (colored black in the image) tuff atop the baby's head. Steve had seen sonogram images before — the grainy black and white pictures — every check-up he went to with Natasha. It always amazed him that technology could allow them to see the baby as it grew in the mother's womb. And now there was new technology that gave an even better picture. He flipped the image over: _Hey Dad, loo who's happy you're here! — Mom_ was written in Natasha flowy hand. He flipped the image back over. The time stamp was earlier this month.

He remembered watching Bruce get out the new machine. Watching the image appear of their baby appear. James. Their son. His son. Tears stung his eyes and a sense of revelation burst over him. "What am I doing?" he wondered aloud, before tucking the picture of James back into his wallet and started his car. He had to get home. He glanced to the left at the still slumbering capital and remembered how it used to look: squat brick buildings, the monuments, Capital Building and White House dominating the skyline. Bicycles and pedestrians, streetcars and a few personal cars. Red, white and blue streamers and military recruitment posters (his image on the Army on still bothered him) on every corner where the paperboy trumpeted the latest victory in the war against Tōjō and Hitler. Posters for his war bonds show at every theater hall. A simpler time.

Now DC was hustling and bustling with skyscrapers and freeway overpasses. Gone was the idyllic nostalgia of his youth. There was nothing for him in DC. Just broken dreams and dead promises. _None of us can go back_ , Peggy had told him, _all we can do is our best and sometimes our best is to start over._

He made a turn as he pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

When he opened the door to his apartment it was around ten in the morning. Driving all night had left him feeling exhausted but coming home to see Natasha with the intention of pouring his heart out to her, gave him a new sort of jolt that he needed. Natasha was sitting on the couch in the same over large grey turtleneck sweater and stretchy black yoga pants an grey fuzzy socks with pale pink polka dots. Clint was the only new addition and Liho was curled up on his lap. For all his talk about hating cats and loving dogs, Clint had a soft spot for Liho.

At Clint's nod, Natasha looked over at him and he knew she had been up all night. He swallowed, feeling cowardly and like the lilies he bought were a poor make up gift. Natasha pressed her hands to her mouth. "Steve—"

"It's you," he said. "It's always been you. For as long as I could remember I would picture the woman of my dreams and I could never really get a proper picture of her. Even when I met Peggy, I felt like there was something _missing_ and now I realize what it is" — he licked his lips, closing the door as he walked further into the apartment — "she wasn't the right partner. You are Natasha" — his expression softened — "you… you always treated me like I was just a man. Around you I was just Steve, I wasn't Captain America or the leader of the Avengers. And… you always had a way of making me look at things differently." He walked up to her, kneeling before her. "Your quirks, the way you walk like a dancer or slouch along when you catch me staring, the way you giggle just before you actually laugh. How you put your feet on the dash, even though you _know_ I don't like it. Your fondness for peanut butter." He took her hand. "I love how you always lay on your left side and press your nose into my chest, how you check to make sure the window is locked, and you wait for me when I go on my morning runs — even though you pretend to be asleep. You're so strong around others, yet you let me see you after your nightmares. I love how our lives feel like a more complex version of Megara and Hercules." He smiled, blinking against the tears that had started to sting at the corner of his eyes. "You're eyes light up whenever we watch Mulan, and you sign along to every song. You watch monster movies with me even though you hide your face in my shoulder. You go all still when you watch your favorite dramas that sometimes Ii think you forget to breathe. You sit by the window and read poetry or historical fiction on rainy days, lost in a world beyond your own." He sighed. "And most of all I love how you are the Black Widow. How you are so brave and strong, and even if you are afraid you hide it behind a smile and tell me it's gonna be fun." He ducked his head. "So… I'm sorry. You don't have to marry me and it's okay if you never tell me you love me. I know you do. The way you smile at me, the way your eyes light up when I'm in the room, the way you always have to be near me as if you're afraid I'll disappear the moment you turn away. That's love. I was a fool for not realizing it earlier. You are my true north." He swallowed and scrubbed at his eyes. "I love your Nat."

* * *

After Steve left, she had called Clint and he had came right over and they just sat there in the empty apartment. Neither of them said anything, there was nothing to say. Her world was crashing around her. The happy little slice of heaven she was crafting for herself had started to crumble at the edges and she could only stare blankly at the wall. Everyone now and then she had felt James move beneath her hands, but she didn't get up, didn't move. Eyes fixed on the door and hoping against hope that Steve would come back. At some point she must've dozed off because when she came to, her mouth had that strange post-sleep feeling. Still no Steve.

And then, when she was giving up hope: Steve walked through the door and confessed his love for her. Telling her about all the little things she never knew about herself that he saw. Natasha felt her throat tighten, and tears well in her eyes. Anger and joy mingled together to create a maelstrom of emotions she didn't quiet know what to do with. Anger that he left so suddenly. That he never worked up the nerve to tell her how he felt because he was afraid she'll run off (it was a valid fear, she'll give him that but — still). Joy that he came back, that he truly did love her and their baby. She guessed it all didn't matter now, though. Steve was before her, an expecting expression on his face — a hopeful look in his eyes — and she shrank away from that. It was a cold coiling dread that if she took the plunge and embraced this happiness, it would all com crashing down eventually. Instinct told her to always leave herself an out, a way to escape if something went wrong. She was tainted by the horrors of the Red Room, red dripped from her saturated ledger. A bad person didn't deserve to have good things happen to them. Not when so many good people had bad things happen to them. "Steve, I—" she stopped, unsure what to say. She glanced at Clint, who gave her a small encouraging nod. Swallowing, she took the flowers from Steve and set them own the coffee table. Liho perked up at the crinkling sound of the plastic wrapped around the stems, eyeing the flowers, but didn't move from Clint's lap. "You're home," Natasha said, keeping her voice steady. "That's all that matters."

"Natasha," he began, but she shook her head. It was too much for her. Too much and she couldn't think straight with so many different thoughts and emotions tugging at her. She been up all night worrying about him and now that he's home she just wanted to sleep.

"We'll talk later," she said, grunting as she got to her feet. Clint set Liho on the empty cushion before standing up as well. He picked up the lilies.

"Uhm… I'll just take these. Lilies aren't good for cats," he said. She nodded, ignoring Steve's disgruntled frown. "Night — er — morning… whatever. See you two later." Clint gave them a little wave and left the apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Steve was still kneeling in front of her, subservient in a way as if she was a goddess of the ancient past. Liho had taken advantage of this fact to have him scratch behind her ears.

"I'm going to bed," Natasha announced. "I've been up all night and I need sleep."

Steve stood up. "Okay." He laced his fingers together. "Natasha, I—"

"Let's just get some sleep," she said; talking about their problems could wait for the morning, when they were both rested. "We both had a long night."

A sigh. "Okay," he said, coming to her side and wrapping an arm around her. It felt… awkward when he didn't kiss her temple or put his hand on her belly. There was a distance between them now and she struggled against that, but she didn't say anything and allowed him to lead her to their bedroom where they changed and crawled into bed just as Steve's alarm was going off. "Good thing we have no plans today," he said as he settled into bed.

"Yeah." She tucked the fluffy pregnancy pillow close to her, positioning it beneath her belly. Normally, Steve would spoon her, but tonight he didn't. Again, she didn't say anything to deter this distancing behavior from him. "G'night," she whispered tucking her pillow closer to her.

"Night," he said. There was a rustling noise as Liho jumped onto the bed and walked across the blankets. "Hey kitty," Steve whispered as Liho settled on his chest. Natasha sighed, closing her eyes.

It was always the same dream. The concrete walls, the doctor with no face but a surgical mask on as he told her it will be over quickly, she just needed to relax, and she won't feel a thing.

Hands held her down, spreading her legs and the over head light blinding her. Slender instruments poked and prodded her. "No… please… no…" she begged, but a slender gnarly hand rested on her shoulder.

"This must be done Natalia, so you can take your place as Black Widow." Afterwards she curled up in her bed, crying silent tears to herself. "You belong to us now," Madame B said. "The Red Room is your only family."

Blackness over took her and once more she was in a hospital room, this time holding her baby. The baby cooed in her arms, and she couldn't stop smiling. She had a child, and then Madame B came walking in, looking down her narrow nose. Without a word she slipped her spindly arms around the baby and plucked him from Natasha's arms. "No… No, please," she begged, "don't take my baby. Don't take my child!"

"You are Black Widow," Madame B said, handing off the squealing baby to a faceless nurse. "You belong to us now and forever. You are your only family."

"No… no… I… I have a family! I have someone who loves me! Steve! Steve loves —" Madame B slapped her. She touched her tender check.

"We will fix this meddlesome problem," she said, and the doctor with slick wet blood on his rubber gloves came over to her, pushing a machine to her bedside. "The Black Widow no longer needs her heart," Madame B said.

"Very well." The doctor gave a nod, turning the machine on.

Terror ran through her and she woke up, cold sweat beading her brow. Muted sunlight poured through the curtained window. The clock on the nightstand read two o'clock in the afternoon. James stirred beneath her touch and letting out a shuddering breath, she allowed herself to relax. It was just a dream. The Red Room was gone. Madame B — as far as she knew — was dead. They couldn't hurt her anymore.

"Steve?" she called, upon noticing his side of the bed was empty. No answer Doubt clamored to be heard in her heart and the vicious thoughts whispered insidiously to her: he left you, he doesn't love you, he hates you, you have no family, nobody cares about little orphan Natalia. You belong to the Red Room… _always_. "No," she whispered. "No please." She would not cry. She was Black Widow, she was a master at emotional control. James kicked, almost as if he could sense his mother's distress. Even Liho came to check on her, meowing softly in concern, before jumping up and snuggling against her. The simple affection from her cat was enough to make her smile. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and dialed Steve's number. "Pick up," she whispered, waiting for Steve to answer. "Please pick up… I need you."

"Hi—"

"Steve!"

"Sorry I missed your call. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you ASAP." There was a woman's voice telling her to leave her message after the peep but she hung up before then, dropping her phone back onto the bedside table. _He abandoned you. Just like he did last night. He doesn't love you. Never did. Those pretty words were lies. Captain America could never love a wretched cruel woman like the Black Widow — like_ you _!_

"No… please…" she whispered. There was a loud buzzing sound and some generic ringtone music. Blinking away her tears, she picked up her phone to see that Steve was calling her — the dorky candid photo she took bouncing and the green phone icon shooting arrows up. Grabbing it with an almost frantic need, she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey baby," Steve said, "did you just try to call me?" he asked.

"Yeah, Steve where are you?" she asked. "When are you coming home?" she stroked Liho's fur, trying to calm her nerves, stop her hand from shaking.

"I'm on my way right now. Tony wanted me to look at some nursery sets and then I stopped off to get some things for dinner" — there was a pause — "Nat, honey, you okay? Is something wrong?"

"I woke up and you weren't there… I thought… I…" she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I wanted to let you sleep. We'll talk more when I get home, okay?"

"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. "I love you, Steve. You… you make me so happy. You… you see the good in me despite all the red in my ledger and that encourages me to keep… keep at it. To be better. And… I love how you'll sit and draw for hours by the window or how you sing in the shower because you think nobody is listening. I know you think we're like Megara and Hercules, but I feel like we're more Mulan and Shang. And I love how you can laugh so easily, and you do everything with all of your heart. You wear your heart on your sleeve and at first, I thought that was annoying, foolish even. Letting the world know how you feel but I was wrong. It's admirably courageous and I love your honesty and I just love you so much, Steve." She sniffed, wiping her nose on the blanket. "You are my light in the darkness."

There was silence for several long moments and she feared she had scared him off. "I love you too, Nat. More than anything… well… I love James just as much, but —"

She laughed. "Hurry home, okay."

"I'll see you soon," he said, and there was a click as he hung up. Smiling she got out of bed. There was a lightness to her as she got ready for the day — or what was left of it anyway — and she couldn't wait for Steve to come home. Putting the kettle on for some tea, she tidied up their apartment, pausing in the nursery. Steve had done a wonderful job painting it a soft eggshell white, adding cute little zoo animals frolicking in the meadows with Disney characters overlooking them. The shelf was packed with picture books — both in English and Russian — and there were even special ones featuring their adventures as Avengers. Stuffed animals sat atop another shelf, all fluffy and ready to be loved on by their son. It was a beautiful sight. The crib and changing table set would come soon, but there already was a rocking chair in the corner for her to nurse. "Nat?" Steve called, and she looked over her shoulder to see him. "The water's done. And uh… I'm home." He gave her a sheepish smile. "You okay?"

"Better than ever," she said, closing the gap between them and looping her arms around his neck. She smiled when his hands fell to her belly, James stirring at his father's touch. "He missed you," she whispered, sighing when he nuzzled her forehead. "As did I."

"I'm sorry I didn't leave a note. I was hoping you'd stay asleep," he said. She pecked his lips.

"That's okay," she said, pulling away and leading him out of the nursery to the couch in the living room. Liho was already on the table, sticking her head into the plastic bags that Steve had brought him, just to see if he brought her anything. With a soft grunt, Natasha sat down and snuggled against him. "Steve… about the night before —"

"No, Nat. It's fine. I just… lots of things have been going on and —"

"— but I do love you. More than anything —"

"— I understand, your past and the Red Room and what you been through —"

"— I want to show you that but —"

"— so it's okay —"

"— it's not okay —" she frowned, a goofy grin spread across her face as she started laughing. "I think we both stared talking."

"Yeah." He grinned. "We did." He pulled her close, kissing he temple and she felt so safe and loved in his embrace.

"I don't want to feel like we're getting married because you feel obligated to do so because I'm pregnant and you're the father. That' not what I want." She looked up at him, tracing his jawline with her fingertip. "I was married once."

"Oh?" he frowned. "Who was he?"

"His name was Alexi. He was… he was a pilot. Tested experimental aircraft for the KGB. One day he crashed and didn't survive."

"Did you love him?"

She frowned. Loving Alexi was not something she ever thought about. In fact, she didn't really think it was love, she was too tangled by the Red Room's strings to understand what love was, let alone understand what it felt like. "No. It was an arranged marriage. He needed a wife; the Red Room needed an eye on what the rest of the KGB was doing. I was the perfect choice." She smiled sadly. "I was a convincing wife. All smiles and teasing touches. Even when Alexi's temper flared, I was the perfect Russian officer's wife." She stroked his cheek. "But I love you, Steve. I know that."

"I thought you told Loki once that love is for children?"

She smiled. "Well, I never said it was the truth." She kissed the corner of his mouth, which prompted him to turn his head a bit to give her a proper kiss. "So that's where I stand on marriage."

"I don't want to marry you just because you're pregnant Nat. I've been… well… toying with the idea… I think ever since you took that bullet for me and I gave you my blood. I knew… knew I wanted to spend my life with you."

His words warmed her heart, and she realized this was the feeling Clint told her about, the moment when everything clicks into place. Taking Steve's face gently in her hands, she smiled at him before placing a tender kiss on his lips. "Yes," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "A thousand times, yes."

For his part, Steve stared at her as if he been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It took him a moment or two for him to realize what she was agreeing too, but when he did, he laughed and hugged her. "I haven't even asked but okay! Okay!" He nuzzled her nose. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> See toldja happy ending.
> 
> Next chapter is an epilogue 5 years later. If you are curious to know a little about Steve and Nat's life after this chapter, check out my new story Supernova, Baby.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


	5. Epilogue

A lot could happen in five years, though it didn't seem like it. Time felt so trivial yet finite yet infinite all at once. He spent seventy year frozen in ice, yet to him it had felt like only a handful of hours had passed. Still, five years was five years and he watched his son grow up — one of the surest markers of time's passage.

James had been born healthy, a big baby — weighing in at nearly ten pounds (Natasha was glad told him she was glad Bruce insisted on a scheduled C-section as she would not have forgiven if him if she had been forced to give birth vaginally) — with a thick mop of red hair on his head. A few days after James was born, he and Natasha got married in her room in the medical wing. Tony ordained the wedding since he was official — all of five minutes ago thanks to the internet — and Pepper was able to keep their nuptials and James' birth out of the papers for an entire year (Carol almost crashed that party with her sudden pregnancy six months after James was born).

Needless to say, when the news was released about their paternal and material status known, the media had an absolute heart attack. Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram blew up. Carol's newborn daughter helped lessen the shock — two Avenger babies in the same year — though because she was a relatively new addition to the team, her and her daughter didn't have the media salivating to catch a glimpse. Overnight the hashtags: capwidow, MrandMrsAmerica, and ColdWar were trending along with the hashtag avengersbaby. People clamored for pictures and there was a media swarm around the base of Avengers Tower. Every insider magazine wanted an interview with them, people wanting to know how their romance developed, did they plan on having more kids, was James just a freak but happy accident. Of course, the fan sites were a hellhole. Random people complaining about how he or Natasha were now taken, they both received death threats (Carol was largely spared most of this: again, she was relatively new and had kept Thor's identity and Leah's father a closely guarded secret) and a few had been directed at James.

Pepper had security investigate the threats and he had to hold Natasha back from dealing with those people herself ("Nobody is going to find any bodies, Steve. Nothing that can be traced back to me, I promise.")

Not that he blamed her; he had stood vigil over his son for a long while after those threats were made. To help divert some of the media attention Tony announced he and Pepper had gotten married (it was a small quiet ceremony — at Pepper's request — only the Avengers and close family got invited) and they were expecting their own child soon. Which may have had the adverse effect of doubling the media presence. Still, after about a week, the internet didn't seem to care so much about him or his little family (or the growing families of the Avengers. Sam had come forward with news that he and Maria were expecting a baby).

When James was three, they sold their penthouse apartment in Brooklyn and permanently moved to their quiet suburban neighborhood, which was an hour's drive from the city. The house was spacious, with a two car garage, a big backyard with a few trees. The dog they got when James was a baby had grown with their son and many warm summer evenings James and Bailey would run around in the grass playing. Their house was also a popular summertime get-together location and James had plenty of playtime with Leah Danvers (Carol more or less lived with them as Natasha wouldn't stand for knowing one of her closest friends struggled to find someone to watch her daughter), Morgan Stark, Riley Wilson and Francis Barton. By next summer, two new and unexpected additions to the Avengers children quintet had been added: Bucky and Wanda's twins, Thomasina and William.

It was such a blessing to hear the laughter of children in his backyard. It was something he had long dreamed of having one day — when he thought his life was typical for a poor skinny guy from Brooklyn — but never entertained (because as he once told Peggy: no girl was interested in a guy they might step on). Now, it was a normal apart of his life. It was something that got him through long missions — like this one, when the entire team needed to assemble and stop evil. When on the return trip he was tired to his bones and just wanted to go home and lay in his own bed. Sighing, he let his head rest against the metal wall of the Quinjet. Natasha was snoozing, her head on his shoulder and their hands intertwined. Pepper and Laura had been left at the Avengers Tower to watch the children. The Quinjet sighed, the engines slowing as the airplane came in for a landing, the whining sound echoing through the cabin. The jet touched down on the landing pad and Natasha only mumbled in her sleep and snuggled closer to him — Carol and Clint expertly piloting the craft. He nudged her with his elbow. "Hey, we're home… sorta."

"Mmm" — she yawned — "what time is it?" she stretched, rubbing her head. "Think James is still awake?"

"You think your kid has issues sleeping?" Tony asked. "Morgan is still up at the oddest hours. I know I don't sleep much — insomnia and coffee — but she'll be up at two in the morning and come waltzing into my lab asking if I have time for a tea party and a bed time story."

Carol chuckled at that. "Leah doesn't sleep at night," she said. "The sky's awake at night according to her, so she's awake" — Carol smiled — "I think it's the Kree in her."

"Or the Asgardian," Thor said, putting his hand on Carol's shoulder. "Both would give any child boundless energy. Combined, well…" he shrugged.

"See, we have normal kids," Sam said, as he punched the red button that lowered the ramp and gestured between him and Clint. "That sleep during the night, like _normal_ kids."

"We're Avengers," Tony said, "normal's overrated." The ramp hit the ground with a soft thud and there was a delighted squeal of _daddy!_ as Morgan came running up the ramp, followed by James (Leah just flew over their heads to get to her parents).

Natasha smiled. "It's good to be home," she said, following him outside and hopping off the ramp the first chance she got. "Now to find my monster."

Steve grinned, following her. Morgan was talking a mile a minute at Tony, explaining everything that happened since he had been gone. Tony nodded, shock expressions on cue when it was required. Steve was happy Tony found his bit of heaven, especially after what Pepper told him about how Tony became Iron Man, how Howard wasn't the best of fathers; it pleased Steve to know Tony was making the best of what life gave him. Carol and Thor had their hands full with trying to contain Leah and her excitement (making sure their daughter didn't fly too high or shoot a random photon blast, as she was still learning to control her powers).

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" James came running up to him, grinning from eat to ear. "You're home!"

"You bet I am," he said, bending down to catch James and toss him into the air. Natasha hated it when he did it, but James loved it. So, he guessed it was alright. He hugged James close, breathing in the soft tropical scent of his kids' shampoo.

Whenever he thought about what it would feel like coming home from the war, he always imagined it would be a punch to the gut. Instead, it was subtle, like his mother pulling the quilt up to his chin. As he held James in his arms, he realized he was home. All the horrors of WWII were finally behind him. It may have taken him almost eighty years to do it, but he was finally home.

"Can we watch _Lilo and Stitch_?" James asked, breaking through his thoughts. He smiled at his son's wide-eyed and hopeful face. Sure, it was one in the morning and James should be sleeping, but who was he to deny his son something like this?

"Sure buddy," he said, walking up to Natasha and looping his arm around her waist as he shifted James to his hip. "We can watch _Lilo and Stitch_ , as many times as you want." James gave a soft _yes_ at that.

"But first you need to take a bath, get into your pajamas and brush your teeth," Natasha said, using her mom voice. "Auntie Pepper and Auntie Laura, let you stay up extra late because Daddy and I were coming home, and if you fall asleep during the moving, I want you ready for bed."

"I won't fall asleep," James declared, with all the determination of a five-year-old. There was a wild whoop of laughter and he glanced over his shoulder to see Carol and Leah floating over the Quinjet as Leah demonstrated her ability to do three loop-de-loops in the air. "Wish I could fly like Leah," James grumbled and then pressed his face into his father's neck. "But flying seems scary cause you can go really high."

Steve chuckled. Who would've guessed that his son had a fear of heights. "I'll teach you something better than flying," Natasha said, rubbing James' back. James perked up at that. "I'll teach you how to dance."

"Dancing is for girls!" he stuck his tongue out. Natasha laughed at tapped his nose.

"Oh no, my solnishko, some of the greatest dancers are boys too. I'll show you in the morning."

"Can you dance Daddy?" James asked as they entered the Tower and made for the elevator to head to their floor. The elevator doors opened as they approached.

"A little," he said, stepping inside the car with Natasha. The elevator hummed as it descended. James leaned over his shoulder to watch the skyline as they descended. "Mommy taught me how to dance. Plus, dancing is kinda light fighting. So the better dancer you are, the better you'll be at fighting."

"Then I can come with you and Mommy to beat up aliens?" James asked, his eyes growing wide at the idea. Steve chuckled.

"One day," he said as they got off on their floor and he set James down. "Now, go listen to your mother and get ready for bed."

"Okay." James grabbed Natasha's hand and dragged her off towards the bathroom, yammering about dancing and fighting and if she could teach him to do both. Steve smiled in an amused sort of way, wondering if Natasha regretted ever saying that. He'd probably hear about it tonight in bed.

"Good to be home, sir?" JARVIS asked, as he entered his own bedroom, plucking his shield from his back to set against the wall.

"You have no idea," he said as he peeled off his uniform and grabbed a fresh pair of sleep pants before hopping into the shower. It felt good to be beneath the hot stream of water, washing off the muck and grime from his skin, scrubbing himself raw. It refreshed him and allowed him to relax. By the time he got out of the bathroom and headed to the living room, Natasha and James were waiting for him. "You left him with the tv on?" he asked, gesturing to he wet hair and robe glad body.

"And hot chocolate," she said, angling her head up for a kiss. Chuckling, he pecked her lips and took the spot besides James, pulling his wife and son close to each other. "Ready?"

"Ready," he said and looked at James, as Natasha pulled the movie up from Tony's vast library of movies.

"Ohana means family," James said, smiling as Steve ran his fingers through his son's damp hair.

"And family means nobody gets left behind," Natasha said, waving her hand for JARVIS to dim the lights.

"Or forgotten," he said. Yes, for a skinny kid from Brooklyn who only dreamed of serving his country, he did pretty good, and was finally home, where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios 
> 
> I know I said I was going to update Catching Feelings today, but how I written chapter 11 is convoluted (as in I wrote all four scenes outta word and I didn't feel like dealing with it this weekend).
> 
> For more domestic Avengers, go read Supernova, Baby which deals with Thor and Carol. I'm not sure if there will be anymore stories in the Baby universe (I do have a WinterWitch idea, but it's tentative and I'm not sure if I wanna write it or not) but who knows. Next week I'll update Supernova, Baby and after that we'll get back to Catching Feelings.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.

**Author's Note:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Stuidos
> 
> I'm sorry this is so late but work and life and my weird ass sleeping schedule.
> 
> Happy 101st birthday Captain Steven Grant Rogers! Hope it was a good one.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> If you liked this story check out my current project: Catching Feelings, for more Romanogers goodness! :)


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